Jeff Harrison
Few Charred New
sweet is the ink sour jottings beached
on lying diaries, pay attention
to the content of intimate newspapers
cold fish failed themselves,
jottings get wet, this could be
a lost chance which deceives sleep
— this may be the VIEW, Mr. Harrison,
you sweet moral thing, which history
will compare to COMPARISON —
your small library haughtiness is
a wolf in quiet boots, beast-burdened
with shrinking and thirst, its eyes you
cast into fires go dark: hélas, someone's
unscheduled panting freezes victory again:
whose mud,

crow-blind bone,

will learn this wily place?

these liquids the candy
are timetables is the ink