I, pre-poet,
withdraw myself from the poem.
I give myself the deadline of destiny aloud.
I fill myself with a time before departure,
but would I do that, don’t know; the flow is
complete and I couldn’t persuade language
to be itself and I curse the profit of every object.
This eighth line: consciously I omit the shadow of my example
from the illusion, and above all
what would have its meaning without me –
Today the pre-poem is in the middle
although the margins are full of names.