larst

leans his a fullhead

taller than small men,

brother of the wincing lung

& liver eternal i know him.

a man of infinite

letters arranged just

so then otherwise men do.

the poet lariat whipping into shapes

& all our bright & pretty angles bleed

into oneanother darlingly-

as all the herrings in the

sea don't lift a fingerling to trout in.

he is the dog-ear (i see before me

& he the felt tip to the page.

surfing the fallout

of the rainbow terrible

he is

fin

only to be read again.