The language poet
Is insouciant
Tossing the literal
Aside in favor of the nut
Within the nut
Within the shell
And really what
Did he find other than
The wheel turning to land
On Kora's season in Hell?
Oh but pity the poor language poet
The empty shell in which
He seeks to make himself
Feel more at home
More like a hermit crab
Than a lordly pair
Of lobster claws
Scuttling along
The ocean floor
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