SPAM POETRY VOL. 2

This little gem showed up in my inbox this morning. It is entitled "Mary". Enjoy.


Comes up with as a means to its own end.
With my foot the supple ball, for perhaps
Again awaken from your being gone to find
Blurring the terrain,
What can we know of whatever picture-plane
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
But when, on the timepieces that we call
Never does any motion, sound, or light
It is as though I were at a second threshold.
Whiteness, those pediments that rise
When Arctic winds crack down from Canada
References
Two of us, Docteur and Madame Machine, who stand
At San Biagio, in the most intense room
That only you and I can know. Les deux
As if your absence now concluded long ago.
And then I go on until I am beneath an archway,
Over the chilly dale.
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive