Let us arrive at a sense of place. Harvard is not a place. Poetry is a gamboling goat or metaphor. The professorial pride of knowing poetry presents a state of acquiescence, socially involved. That is, knowing poetry is a people/social equation. Words create impact and impact creates poems. Poems are far things, of course, but we get near by saying we are near. Statues seem to stay still. Natheless, some kind of evident indication allows for social contract. This may form a less surprise feature, in the words, but as the machine encloses content, content becomes poetry. Do not request froward distinctions. The exact academy has worked out the details.Teacher emphatically the teacher. And since words empty at risk, the flowery garden remains open to requests. Here is the latest poem.
The work becomes chiding of sunlight. The work is elegy and shaded. The principle ciphers as a god, in the way transience is purpose. Transience works this brief, ending fields, making trees concern. The hell of halting midway identifies the work of burning thru. Forever makes a sign. Sign makes worthy. Indeed the tramp of feet forward concludes any sentences but suggests more. Long sentences, stupid words. The caroling heard by Dante, brilliantine remorse for a better tide. The long road up from down, and turned around. The work then becomes the work now, as stained glass similitude. Anxious in the class structure of catastrophe, the baying song over all. Nothing to do but be done. Ruskin gave you papers to remind you. Slow battering concedes the earth in time. Time being functional and oblique. The worker inside sees the nation by exhalation. Transitive connection sports of culture. The class that ends becomes the class that begins, both left and right.
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