mmdcxv

Oh come back, whatever heart
you have left. It is my life
you save. The poem is done.
                       —John Wieners

I can say that again, right?
Repetition can be powerful,
it can evoke memory (and
provoke it), it can also,
I suppose, be a sign of
some weakness, point a
bit too astutely to a lack of
memory, for example.
I’ve never been one for
power, anyway. Attention,
perhaps? But Superhero?
Not me. And whatever the
case, these words arrived,
and continue to arrive, and
for now, they are a long

river of paradoxical mantras.
And so I use them two at 

a time and again and again.
My gratitude for anyone
who puts up with my
insistence on echoing
my own voice, my
own words, and those
of many other better
voices than mine. There
is some consistency,
even within such a
gemini as, well, myself.
Thus the duplicitous
mantra spake: The 

poem is never finished.