Boundless thanks to Nick for sending in the poem, one of my all-time favorites. I post it here for your delectation:

Grind (Diane Ward, from “Never Without One” (Roof, 1984)

Thin spaced fractions (internal listenings) I thought as much

as numbers, I hear around us inmates of the ears.

Eternal attraction to heroic caginess that touched doubt.

The don’t say that you’re a scant inventor of my own.

This derangement on as it should go on. The picture of

themselves spread over themselves which are barely owned.

On no further than playing intimate figmenteds lended.

Experts now take hurry, but mean calm asylum.

Minor subsistence furthered by amended minds in all-surroundings.

And physical exhausted erroneous respect. We could be already

in end, a better platform to be relieved by all of you

together functioning. By life patterns choice, different

sense of vertical different cultural blood that, by wandering,

induces time’s factor of between. Like authority’s lens

and experience magnified by a giant tear whose modern answers

yes and yes and ok ok. Oh, from eventualities-lower modes’

care extracted. Oh, to link arms, arms formulate, formulating

promises, promise, unleash the absent electric impulses shot

through bodies as exotic blue the hue of distance.

He’s about to lend a problem which his mind has already solved.

Questions remaining as a glaze in his eyes.

Changes made before you.