pedantically clean and orientated by monday march and morning? can’t be a poet, must be a schoolteacher of english - as it goes, chaotic on the poet’s bookshelf as inside a painter’s studio.*

the best poetry, i find, is done,
by the misappropriation of nouns:
just for the giggles
of that misplaced king o’ whisked
into pheasant pleasantries:
troubleshooting plato’s cave
in the panasonic flatscreen;
because - mighty internet - allows
my input too - isn’t a passive digit input
to get the cookie feeling of staring
en masse at “the most historic moment in broadcasting history.”