THE MODERN WORD.

There’s little to say,

And what there is
Has been said better
By those moulders of letters
Whose names are largely unknown
But whose flaming declarations have burned
Forgotten typefaces into the vacant
Spaces just behind the eyes
Of the busy wise men
Who come again

And again with words

Spurted purposely
To others whose rate of
Return is greater once feted
With these supposed diplomacies
But are generally unaware of the whispers
That have carried these wisdoms
Down countless generations
And changed their tone
Till what we know

Bears scarce affinity

With any ministry
That first set out to shout
Its hectic rhetoric against the
Rich and listless walls of formality
That once rewarded the evil deeds of men
And fell when they first heard the
Charges hefted against them,
But now surround us again
And dictate why

There’s little to say.