Something was about to go laughably wrong,
whether directly at home or here,
on this random shoal pleading with its eyes
till it too breaks loose, caught in a hail of references.
Iíll add one more scoop
to the pile of retail.
Hey, youíre doing it, like I didnít tell you
to, my sinking laundry boat, point of departure,
my white pomegranate, my swizzle stick.
Weíre leaving again of our own volition
for bogus patterned plains streaked by canals,
maybe. Amorous ghosts will pursue us
for a time, but sometimes they get, you know, confused and
forget to stop when we do, as they continue to populate this
fertile land with their own bizarre self-imaginings.
Hereís hoping the referral goes tidily, O brother.
Chime authoritatively with the pop-ups and extras.
Keep your units pliable and folded,
the recourse a mere specter, like you have it coming to you,
awash with the new day and its abominable antithesis,
OK? Donít be able to make that distinction.
|From A Worldly Country by John Ashbery. Copyright © 2007 by John Ashbery. Published by arrangement with Ecco, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.|