All Your All-Nighters: The Satiety of Influence

After Kay Ryan’s “All Your Horses” and Gertrude Stein’s “A Carafe, that is a Blind Glass”
A Golden Shovel from Sappho’s “Fragment 33,” tr. Mary Barnard

Say when a cousin is in the
gloss of rain – a kind of doorkeeper’s
teacher – a spectacle of feet
and teacups are more wet, are
more certain, are more twelve
than twelve dozen. Yards
of time collapse at eleven to one; long
for wet and colorful arrangements. Ten
is tiny twenty’s puny pony; shoemakers –
and not ordinary thoughts – are used
to odds like eleven to one. Five,
perhaps, is like a rupture; oxhides,
of course, cannot rupture a system to
pointing. Think again. Cobble
a sigh’s resemblance to signs, sandals
broken by a single, hurt sundial. For
difference unordered is retreading them!

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