FIRST LINE STOLEN FROM JOHN KEATS
Standing aloof in giant ignorance,
Dreadful, wizened, busy
with convincing me to make a grave mistake.
You tell me that you have in mind
Exploding Everything but nothing here
is made out of that kind of plastic.
Still, you talk on the phone as though you were
Sent by angels: a bottomless well of wrongness,
Sprung with wrongness, decorated
with its fur.
Your wrongness is almost like a kind of luck.