JOSEPH FARLEY
-- For Kenneth Koch
1.
Trail blazers
cut down the trees
and make a path
that leads somewhere,
but not necessarily
where they were
trying to go.
2.
Others followed,
built cities
in the wilderness.
3.
What path is this
I have set upon?
What path is this
that you have followed?
4.
Afterwards,
some people
missed the trees.
5.
Some people
haven't noticed
the trees
are missing.
6.
It all ends the same.
That's nothing new.
All roads lead to Rome.
All poetry obscures
the obvious,
or makes it more so.
It's as if the dark, which had before just been context, gave to vulnerability a permission, almost: fleshy saucers of spilled cream, so many parchment fists, unfisting; and now, in pieces, the delicate mask of an indifference offered radically up against what, each time, seems as unthinkable, as unexpected, as when, in the long dream of retraction, that sea that is finally not a sea, but what else to call it, begins again its shifting, and though to every push of the will forward there's something noble—which is to say, something lonely, also—it's too late. Carl Phillips Speak Low Farrar, Straus and Giroux
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