poetry started to think
about itself and this has been
a problem ever since
we’re not going to correct anything
when seeking to find out what
has not been noticed it’s not
a competition but a chorus
of competing sonorities false notes
not excluded though at first
they glow like the real tremolo
we work at language’s behest
not unlike the rowers of triremes
singing pyramids up into thin air
painting the curlicues around reality
casting the butterfly in blue bronze
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