Well, you teach me so much error
by irritations that scratch out too many words:
I bathe my eyes
in unbroken paragraphs, must blink
from your unnecessary punctuation
and go on, as in unwanted dreams, through verbless sentences.
You do best with disasters, seem anyhow to understand yourselves
but strain at joys
anyhow; want to retreat from them in cliches
of beautiful trees, always the friendly stranger, friendly and admirable teachers;
anyhow no conscious word to wake up more than anything.
Learn to laugh; I have wanted to live with you
even if it meant wiping your eyeglasses constantly;
doing the whole writing myself
even if it mean imagining all you should say
and what I should relive. I have not found your hidden, ruleless fun
even at what I say. You let yourselves be caught, you do not win:
you do not evade our game.
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