Anticipatory Design
A Poem

Even staying to the middle of that canvas the corners sink in. To your endearing nemesis
you scold lightly in the evening fresh with manure on the fields. Holding your breath
is all you can do. Or you can live with it, drink and dine with it, casting the last-minute aspersions
as you whistle past, breathing in your mouth. The concerted trilogy of the truth you’re omitting
the beer gets cold waiting for you to finish your sentence. Twilit miasmas, deafening in the aesthetic
now present for a deconstruction. The design was not a total failure, but it was an already spent coin.
J.D. Harms 2020
