Rich Seam
He cleared his throat and began watching my reaction to his poem. The fact that I was there at all was unpoetic, making everything turn prosaic. His original intention was for nothing but condensed symbol, studied elision and semantic exegesis. Indeed, his well-meaning meaninglessless of hemming a vocal disenchantment (a disenchantment with my presence?s potentiality for small-talk dialogue which close-knitted verse usually eschewed) caused me to poke my finger down my gullet in an attempt to reach beyond the seventh type of ambiguity, indeed towards another sense that even the sixth failed to reach: the most unwieldy elision of all: death.

(published 'Night Songs' 1997)