Good grief, Pablo
your insane gifts are freaking me out
my mind since I gave up preaching is
as you know tenderly susceptible
to all gestures
& also material objects in the form
of petits cadeaux, and especially
the Waylon Jennings album (you know it for my favorite)
the biography of the anarchist
these have shaken me at the atomic level
from which as Lucretius teaches us
everything flows
from exiguum clinamen
to magnum opus
it is good that I gave up preaching
who knew it lay so deep in my genetics?
But was it not Ebenezer Crofts who 150 years ago
came all the way from Kent
to Texas that he might give,
as he taught us, "full vent to my preachments"?
Not an ignoble reason to relocate
but still, for me, now, unworkable
in poetry
that that coin finally dropped
gaudeamus igitur
am I right?
no Pablo: no more preaching for me
it's all prophecy now
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