Not Beyond All Conjecture
December 10th, 2011
John Ashbery
Oblivion scattereth her poppy, and besides
it’s time to go inside now,
feed the aggressive pets, forgive our trespasses
for trespassing against us.
Other times
monotony is like a cave, the air is fresh,
tedium tonic.
We lie in a museum of helpful objects,
leaning toward the accomplishment of a small,
complicated task, like sailors in rigging.
Something no American has yet achieved.
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