To be fabulous is to have
sly and abstract ethics.
The muse wants to get
all Wordsworth on me as I notice
no matter where I go nature
uniquely wins me over. Trees
never get boring outside a window
no matter where I stay. This
is why Wordsworth doesn’t matter.
Sure, nature wins. But that’s precisely
why poems praising nature are inane.
You need the problem of the sun
to invade the poem. That’s why it’s done.