A new poem I just finished! It's about the book: The Shape of Time (which I ambivalently care deeply for)

Kubler Con, or Revision of a Duration. A Figment.

Kubler, kubler, kublah khan,
secret variations abound,
ugh & ugh and on and on,
a texture appears in the artist’s spawn
my hand moves bored illustrations round…

the anatomy of routine,
the cohesion of this moment into the next,
symbolic enlargements, binding you to me,
replicas of a duration, we convene
in this moment, only one actuality

I make my entrance
and answer aesthetic fatigue
with parody, jest and dance
I cede to the filaments of chance,
always a bit out of my league

So I ask, what did Kubler con?
A shapely, material plurality:
Where time, the sacred ribbon, ran
Through durations measured sixty to a man
Let it come down on you and me.