xi

she's never liked twilight, you know,
when it comes, it only confirms
we've failed at everything
again,
it only arrives to insist,
what a waste,
it says, I at least end things, I
understand perfection, deep
at its source it isn't power,
nothing so small, so edible
there, it is immaculate possibility

-- Dionne Brand, from Inventory


Tautology: An Ode

Precision's Gut disgests our Dismal age;

Here adverbs, and brains, are absent from the page;

Here divine verbiage is scoffed to shame,

Here Word Count snuffs the Promethean flame,

Here Meaning's livery's stripped to a bare word:

Confused by clarity, by concision obscured.

Yet lucid's the vision of one "flow'ry rose"

And grass is best when "verdant green" it grows.

Regal King, Tautology! Tautology Lord!

Return, come back, and repulse this horde!

Arise, Redundant Bards, and regain thy place

Above the homo sapien human race!

-- Joel Patrick Noone