Figure 1

Take the poem III: Snapshots
and the poem IV: Slapped Awakening
and the poem IV: The Man With Bushy Eyebrows
and the poem V: For Grace Paely.
Combine, shift, spin, and register
the plangent and discordant tones
they make as words and images scrape
and glance. Imagine an iron fence-­-
plain iron slats painted black--
bend it round the corner of a lawn.
Get in your car or on foot go slowly by.
The movement and the animal
persistence of your eye
will shimmer dead metal into
moire patterns, the continuous
turbulence that makes light dance
in silk. This conjunction
of movement and chance makes ideas
real and that old sot Plato
perpetually redeemable.
It is so very Mallarme that words
should be laid and spun one on
one on one on one this way.