I.M. Kingsley Amis
Cooper Esteban

You remember that breath
Avid to explain it
Things speak less and less
When you get quiet

The unrenascent window
So like the lichen
You put your hand through the snow
And scraped out a microphone

Trying for so many years
To erase the palimpsest
The stagger of words
That insist on a sentence

St. Anthony's callused feet
Things speak less and less.

1996 © 2004