M: Viii: Pure Timing Poem by Douglas Scotney

A hand reached out and grabbed and held,
Said, 'Listen to my proposition:
Read my novel. Then I'll let you go.'

Actually I had freedom of choice.
I gave up the option of what I could have been doing instead,
Like inventing line-shortening words like
'Insteading'.

I read Jonathan Frantzen Freedom
And began to say 'Big F'.

During some intervals I read Plaine d'Automne,
Autumn Sigh,
Written while Mallarme
Was possessed
By dead Maria's spirit
Which loves the light of the end
Of an end-of-summer day,
And by one of the last poets
Of the Roman decadence
Before barbarian rejuvenation
Or Christian nursery-rhymes
Set in.

When a barrel organ pipes in,
His sadness turns,
Exquisite.