The poet redirected my likeness.

She said, "Not his decadence, which is a question."
"Time," she said, declining his epidemic.
                                              As if serrated,
initiatives lost modernity: aura reared up
although bracketing pages in comparative matters.
                                                           "What time is it?"
Which is a question.
                       As if serrated,
"as if" bracketing pages.

And time again, the timing of a wrecking ball—
                                                      Which is an overture.

From In the Futurity Lounge by Marjorie Welish. Copyright © 2012 by Marjorie Welish. Reprinted with permission of Coffee House Press. All rights reserved.