The Function of Criticism at the Present Time

Abstraction Street;
Derrida’s blind
Twitches
At my approach
Like an eye
Run on no sleep.
Sharp face obscured
By French windows;

He’s right to be curious.

My hobnailed boots
On Eliot’s
Delphiniums,
The conserved lawns-
Contrition
And the individual
Latent, while I
Play with stray words;

He’s right to be furious.

Mr Arnold
Nose pressed against
A frosted pane,
Earnest whiskers
Bristling, at
The nerve of the sweet
Philistine, who's
Stealing his light;

He's right to be serious.

I’m moving in
Ramshackle house
Built on
Sand and flat vowels,
Drama in the
Kitchen sink,
With a roof that
Lets the sky in;

There goes the neighbourhood.