[…] those grand old men of yesteryear, they were your father.
David Rabe, The Basic Training of Pavlo Hummel
there was no a garment
in mr nothing’s wardrobe
that one couldn’t fit in
but rusty hangers up the hill
and there were choices to make
like snooping neighbours
or hiding brandy behind books
along with lack of modesty
all wrapped in dust jackets
reduced to a meagre abstract
where every word is an act
of judgement self-evidence
inherently contradictory
it might be that what he meant
was that the poet’s betrayal
cannot be translated into it
hidden pilcrow 