Some day we will try
To do as many things as are possible
And perhaps we shall succeed at a handful
Of them, but this will not have anything
To do with what is promised today, our
Landscape sweeping out from us to disappear
On the horizon.

until only infinity remained of beauty

A little
bunny or some kind of ferret was probably
there too, and bore witness as only rodents can.

[(I-Newswire) - In the free event, Bell will read from] No Planets Strike, ... Edgy in both senses of the word, Josh Bell populates his daft American heartland with the runaway muse Ramona and her clones. The resulting landscapes are as dangerous, funny, and drop-dead gorgeous as those in a Road Runner cartoon.

The poem is sad because it wants to be yours, and cannot be.

A perfect example of the new republic's urge to drape itself with the togas of classical respectability.