Ill-Made Almighty

Heather McHugh

"No man has more assurance than a bad poet."  Martial

The logos thrives, it is crawling
with bugs.  The lecturers, below,

are memorific, futurized, dead-certain
they'll go unsurprised.  They don't

know nows as you do, true to no
clear destination.  (You can't even act

your age, it's over-understudied.)   Steady
as you go.  The greatest waves are barely

bearable, alive's ill-read already,
and the Skipper is sick of the terribly lit

graffiti in the head.

 

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