Imperfect World Poem by David Michael Jackson


futures

and now my love, these words
painted in an imperfect world
cannot be more than
graffiti on a subway wall
but is Wordsworth
not graffiti
on a subway wall
is Hitler ever dead
ever a burned corpse in an old film
ever dead
ever waiting
or
in the matter itself
always there
the laws of science say that all is decay
all is decay
so what are we to do
what is the element which is our catalyst
try anyway
that is what we are to do
say it anyway
do it anyway
be the ball
***


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