Flux Poem by Rae Armantrout
Flux
1
Come on poets,
word it
till it's yours
or no one's
the way the clock
on my nightstand,
long hand
bonking the numbers
feverishly,
is no one's
2
Sing Muse
of who's what
in this deluge.
The flux of dreaming
carries language with it.
A narrator
must stand aside
and mimic.
Where is he
when the whole worm
burns
from mouth to anus?
What is he
when the worm
refuses?
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4/19/2024 11:50:53 AM # 1.0.0.1119
