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Lyrics of the Trouvères

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Demain! Not much of a glass.
So-called legerdemain padded by you know who
in the direction of Argentina: a #3 pencil implacable
as a first aid kit. War or pine trees.

Thus nothing is spotted with Futurism
and hillsides, the idiom we skulk in
in honor of which differential diagnoses
take a nap in November worrisomeness.

Reliquary dreams. Frangipani!
If you leave without controlled faddishness,
shoulder to shoulder like butter, the
truculence is on the stargazer side.

What godsend fiddles with sadness. Careful
about cheekbones, songs including the Atlantic.

Source: Poetry (December 2016)
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Lyrics of the Trouvères

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