American Poetry

American poetry portends a language that sits
upon meditative seas as a storied boat which
floats upon the sea of consciousness on its
voyage to open waters where the mind
opens up and says, “Look, I have seen
the light.”

American poetry, like the light of the western
sky, gold of the sunset, the silver of the
moonlight, the purple of the shadows
of the eastern sky, a romance at the
edge of the infinite and the imme-
asurable that a language can
grow and morph and be-
come commercial, a
means to an end
when the ghost
of the poem
gives up
its words
and meaning
and the american
poem pretends to
ponder potential
when the poem
has assuredly
been written
and the poet
is a process of
discovering that
America pre-
sents my sense
of language that
spins and churns
and burns again as
stellar dust in the
cosmic, infinite
wind of words
that wind a-
round the

America, a
sellout or
selling out;
ore settling
old accounts;
that language is
the art of the
possible &
the POS-
sible can
then this
as the
seizes ‘a’

and the
can become
the measure of
this infiniteness
of this im-(movable)
of the American
poem, where the
poet says, “Look,
I have seen the
light. Let me go.”


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