Uncle History murders his darlings
But he never uses the eraser
He inveigles young writers
And they, quite properly
See new patterns in the wheat
Losing the past
All the old torched houses
Are forgotten
This is how he stays fit
Tricking generations
With novelty—
Lyric keyholes
Joining dreams together
To a single reality
A longing
And so much longing there is…
Planet of the Blind 