Friday, January 9, 2009

Cleaving william carlos williams

The Imagist

“Love ate the
red wheelbarrow”
—Jack Spicer

i’m so sick—and tired
of that crummy—red wheelbarrow
it’s not even—red anymore
it’s a faded pukey—pink there
in the backyard—crummy rain
along with the—barking dogs
plus the old—bored imagists

i mean like—give me a break
the same with—that crummy jar
the one there—in tennessee
at least it—gets me somewhere
somewhere—nowhere fast
all the way to—memphis and
back again—here in the woods

a red wheelbarrow—hauls things
but a jar of hooch—hauls it better
a wheelbarrow—can move things
but a jar in tennessee—can too
the only thing—a jar needs is
yours truly—deeper and deeper
it goes—into the woodsy quotidian

the woods—the old forest
the hills—the vast greenery
the echoes—off the cliffs and
muffled sounds—the river on
the inside—and the outside
it’s amazing—how much stuff
there is—in a tennessee jar

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