I. Nomos
You stand in front of the class shaking
to read your first sonnet. They clap,
or laugh, or fall still. When they stand,
you clap, laugh, or fall still.
II. Thesmos
The editor you have highly paid
has done their work, sending back
endless notes, grammar strikes, the red.
You curse and spit. Then begin corrections.
III. Physis
A blade of grass is sharp enough,
but is no good to write with. Nor
the sword, or noble spoon. The pen
must lie in-hand, the nib inked, to start.
IV. Techne
Know all the forms, the meters,
pedagogical conventions. Then break one,
break it well and give your flaw a meaning,
an eye-catching circle in a square full of squares.
V. Antilogike
We cannot hear from the knife only.
We must also hear from the wound,
lest we are left with but one tin can,
from which hangs a limp, lonely string.
Kairos
VI. Palms grip podium, sweat dots the temple,
they flew you out here. After a thousand misses,
you hit one random vein, a pocket zeitgeist.
You read aloud a brief ocean into the shells of waiting ears.