Imagine That

                 for YC

By klipschutz

Rachel Cusk flies first class

and drives a hybrid.

Waiting at the bus stop

I raise my hand.

If I change the names

is it fiction?

What if I keep the names

and make up lies?

Or is that like saying it’s a poem

if it rhymes?

Thomas Hardy’s pen made hay

from country towns.

The Poet’s Garden

By John Tottenham

Turning the empty pages

of all the un-chronicled phases:

the mythic lift, the staggered decline,

indelibly etherized in real time.

All the plans that were never hatched,

preserved in ink-stained chicken scratch.

The finer points that will never

be unscrambled or unfurled,

circling the drain

of a chronological netherworld.

My legacy a burden, not a gift,

through which no one wants to sift.