This poem is concerned with language on a very plain level.  Look at it talking to you. You look out a window  Or pretend to fidget. You have it but you don't have it. 

I found this poem in the current edition of the New Yorker (February 3, 2014 edition) and I liked it a lot on my first read. After a…

I keep to myself such  measures as I care for,  daily the rocks    accumulate position

In the south, sleeping against   the drugstore, growling under  the trucks and stoves, stumbling 

Shall I tell you the signs of a New Age coming?  It is a sound of drubbing and sobbing  Of people crying, We are old, we are old