Despite a grumpy refusal to engage in National Poetry Day in any real or active sense, I thought I'd post a poem. A grumpy refusal of a poem.
Congruence
We're sequestering,
I suppose, yes,
everyone's sequestering -
Hey you, with
the bludgeoned eye and
the coffee grounds
gravelling your lips,
what are you sequestering?
Each one's sequestering,
I suppose, yes,
every one is indeed sequestering -
a blunt instrument, a parading praxis
or a childhood cape.
Hey you, what's so quick
to be sequestered?
In other news, Josh Jones of
Etcetera has a book out. His
sterling taste is perhaps reason enough to investigate. Get the book
here.
Looking at the site, it's not actually up at the moment - check back in the next few days I guess. The book is called "Thought Disorder".