Michael Palmer does it again!

Wrote a poem I like today, tomorrow...I dunno, but for today it seems OK.
It came after reading a Michael Palmer poem. He fucking did it again. I don't know what it is about his work, but it inspires me on some mysterious level, emotionally I think, maybe tonally, I dunno. He just somehow gets me to write and write well. The book I have of his is The Lion Bridge: Selected Poems (New Directions, 1998), which I have been reading at a snails pace since early last year. I treat it like the magical elixir in Asterix comics and once it has run out there will be no more. I deliberately don't allow myself to read more than one or two a day. Fucked up.

We never say the word desert

nor does the sand pass through fingers

of this hand we forget

is ours

How can anyone not want to write like that?