Yes, the imagery can be sublime, and no one need question his mastery of meter, but then there is the sententious manner that pervades the entire poem. That does not keep it from eminence but it keeps it from greatness. And maybe that does not matter. Maybe the images achieve altitude and the mastery maintains it. Start from the start: the red pants bespattered with blood and wine to the point where no one knows the difference anymore, the old men remembering thriving on their thefts, the best friends in love, the lovers at odds, the werewolf. See if that carries you through to the end. If not, see where it leaves you.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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