One day the English language is going to perish. The easy spokenness of it will perish and go black and crumbly — maybe — and it will become a language like Latin that learned people learn. And scholars will write studies of and and and and and ,...
But spending your life concentrating on death is like watching a whole movie and thinking only about the credits that are going to roll at the end. It’s a mistake of emphasis.
You can tell it's a poem because it's swimming in a little gel pack of white space. That shows it's a poem.
Poetry is prose in slow motion.
