“I often think of the space of a page as a stage, with words, letters, syllable characters moving across.”

I’m a Keats bot
so are you

Winter. Late January
afternoon. Night falls fast.
You think I should know this

The problem of evil
can be brought home
in a classroom 

One day Mz N meets a woman
slightly horsefaced
hair a tangle

There’s a woman
walks through me
sits at the table

You are in bed
and Antigone’s dead
once again though offstage

The stream is frozen
except what’s flowing
below what’s frozen.

& the moon and all stars
you can name
are fantastic!

a “beautiful day”
nothing happened
and nothing was going to happen

Ferns here ferns there
I dream of my newest friends                         
who soon subside    

That man over there 
looking sidelong 
as you sidelong