crt

John Ashbery – REVOLUTIONesque

SPARINGLY

A bunch of stuff. Junk mail. Dead toilets.
No one needs to know pretty much about
that attitude I suppose. And a hundred others.
The inmates are running the asylum.
The humming of great machines soars above the plain.
We are sorry. We never meant
to do harm. Sunlight crashed through the veil,
pulled the mud out from under him.
Whether that explains the treaty of
this or that spring wardrobe is still unknown.