NOLI ME TANGERE
Verse is just ballast. Make it disappear.
You can demolish it if by some code
You cause a bomb (beneath the part that’s there)
Or landmine (in the last line) to explode.
Make sure you light the fuse. A pious hope.
There is no bomb. Yet you’re obliged, yes, come
What may, to swell the verse to its full scope.
Only beyond a slalom lurks the bomb.
At such a point, why do you not resist,
Stop fiddling with it, let it go, desist?
The cord is cut. Yet still you would persist.
A poem must be round to not exist.