whether my voice trails off or gets louder?
Can the poem itself be the trace?
Can the poem itself be the trace?
I walked in Arizona, recording
my voice—
.wav file smashed into electron-powder.
Should I feel bad about losing the trace,
.wav file smashed into electron-powder.
Should I feel bad about losing the trace,
clearly recognizing I’m in a
race
with time—time wears the trousers?
But can the poem itself beat out the pace,
with time—time wears the trousers?
But can the poem itself beat out the pace,
feet departing in all
haste—
as to first-base when you hit a grounder.
Should I feel bad about making a force?
as to first-base when you hit a grounder.
Should I feel bad about making a force?
There’s always some reason to
feel worse
than I need to feel—when I’ve been too rowdy,
playing my jack on your ace,
than I need to feel—when I’ve been too rowdy,
playing my jack on your ace,
finally hearing that there’s
too much bass—
I fixed it, so now I can be a shouter,
feeling both good and bad about losing the trace,
hoping the poem itself can carve a trace.
I fixed it, so now I can be a shouter,
feeling both good and bad about losing the trace,
hoping the poem itself can carve a trace.
