← v21n2, Fall 2022
Poetry · Volume 21, Number 2

And on this earth there is nothing except this earth

—When did I wonder who may have

Won, the want-to-bes or the might-

Have-beens, and where did someone

Say they parked their butt, when did

They say that hope was a bling with leather?

—Noumenon, I thought, but it was phenomenon

I felt, whithersoever, or some phantom

Singing in the hot mic, blah blah blah, the way

The Polish say it, all the echoes in the stadium,

All the roars in the bull ring, yes, there is nothing.