ANTI-POEMS

MR. STEVENS MEDITATES ON THE ELECTION
(as told to Spike Jones)

A new day, an ordinary haven, is drowning
the darkness in extensive winds. Clouds
above the White House recur
as they recur.

Let beers be, finally, steam.
The only ice cream is the ice cream of emperors...
and a parking island full of grease
and cars.

Like decorations at your bigger seminaries,
the jarring hills roll wildly
like nothing else in
Tennessee.