3 responses

  1. My last posted poem was me as 10-year-old hunter. This one, written about 11 years ago, is me as 10-year-old legal theorist. The intimation of a law degree is artistic artifice, although I did take one undergraduate class in constitutional theory. Does the technique adequately modulate the rave to redeeming unity? Thanks

    Perspicacity

    When I was ten so many people were begging for survival
    I nipped it in the bud and let imagination work instead
    I fed the Warren Court through a wood chipper, as if,
    By dream, the red cartilaginous spray would save us.
    But really not, and for 30 years I studied where its minds
    Came from and ours, in Yale’s best Constitution classes and so forth
    And so forth. For 30 years I did, with these brainy termites’ brains
    Take up, the slather on and clutter up, in theory’s wiles but
    Still in vain to find a wisdom to excel
    The simple perspicacity of ten.

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  2. Then I’ll hold it till I’m absolutely positive I’ve established myself as heir to Stevens and Frost. Reading through my archive yesterday, I note that while my sound sense is as good as Tennyson’s, a certain monotony prevails after a point as in “here he goes again with that.” Plus the recurring, charging, self-absorbed existential critique could probably use more counterpoints of redemption—i.e., a “The Road not Taken.” Maybe if I imagine the South WON the Civil War???

    Like

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