Stanza Number Nine

Number 9, number 9, number 9. Amazing what an impact two words repeated can have in the background of your mind. Was it the first instance of language poetry in “song?”

Or maybe it was understated, more
discreet: “Their providence is wearing thin.
That threadbare baritone no longer reaches
notes of distinction but sinks its grin
beneath peninsulas of grimaces.
The lone ambassador exhumes Cortez.”

Take this brother, may it serve you well.

(complete poem to date here)