Constant Elegy
by Dan Hedges

In the reviews, the literary multitude speak of
how the words ‘evoke space’, and how the imagery
‘lights up the sky’ with an ‘axe of courage’. It is as
if the prose means anything to anyone. These are
anecdotal river-stones, that have not been
verified by the ‘white coats’. No one mentions how the
‘voice’ tethers on the semantic totem of constant elegy,
for this is out of sight. Meanwhile, out amidst the orchard
of choice, the neo-cliché hipsters continue to dabble in
constant requiem and font styles. They concentrate thoughts
until they become distressed aluminum charms in semantic
worlds, word domains away. The grammarian sticklers
peruse a catalogue of noise for new rituals of austere
Julep and make is likely for a-grammarian humanimals
to rise up in unironic rapture.