Robots Who Laugh at Their Own Jokes
by Michael Helsem




a minor restoration
three suns that set
in a sea of noise
& crowded apocalypse

as elegies accrue
that refuse to be written
i summon the porter
for my empty carpet bag

& my triple sun astrolabe

it is far to the center
where they might understand
nevertheless I try, as one who tries
in a deep sea suit underwater,
to put things straight
to get things right

these efforts are wasted
against the onslaught
of winter sunshine
these efforts will not do

as elegies accrue






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