1231
 
Among the changes to the interface
Is one I have been hoping for a while
Would come to pass: these poems
Now are addressed by number.
 
Let me try that again.
 
Along the chances of the interstate
A sound I halve is a ping foreign isle
Walk on, ye passers. These bones
Now are numbered and dressed.
 
Walk on, yes numbers. The notes
I leave you can be found
By menu.
 
The language and the poems.
The wife and the child.
The truth and the sea.
America.
 
What are some proofs positive
Of a derelict imagination
When found in a poem?
Too long but we'll give it to you.
 
This skit isn't funny.
It's the smartest dead guy,
And who's got that?
 
What we were tired of
Thirty years ago
Was going too long between meals.
 
What we are tired of today:
Our native diplomacy.