Leí un libro de Keats in the crapper
and I confused some critical commentary
about this and that.
Reading books, hooked on the net and the like
Speech flow on the page
and this age digital it is
Enero vino y se fue
Messed up am I
filled with information
a memory here and there
seeking the truth
I am told as I read Keats
to be the ultimate
_______________________ . ___ .:-____——(psssst!) Keats had it easy
Oh yeah, really easy.
Do I deal with the now not now but now as yesterday, a foregone conclusion, half cooked notion
Not a whole lot to do there
Western Zilch comes to mind
son las cosas: εφήμερος -lost my ephemeral flow already-
Does a world bent on
as a bat out of hell
now experiences that last
tribal and primitive notions such as the truth
and if so
who gains with them said obsessions?
Who holds the lantern?
and to what helluva purpose?
* John Keats Selected letters – To Benjamin Bailey 28 -30 October 1817
“It seems tome that if Wordsworth had thought a little deeper at that moment […] he should not have written that poem at all. […] it is a kind of sketchy intellectual landscape, not a search for the truth.”