Monday, April 2, 2012

Not Beyond All Conjectur3

John Ashbery

Oblivion scattereth her poppy, and besides

it’s time to go inside now,
feed the aggressive pets, forgive our trespasses
for trespassing against us.
                          Other times
monotony is like a cave, the air is fresh,
tedium tonic.
             We lie in a museum of helpful objects,
leaning toward the accomplishment of a small,
complicated task, like sailors in rigging.
Something no American has yet achieved.

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