Art Crimes

In poetry I have committed
the unpardonable sin of using the word
keen, in both senses of which I am aware.
For my crime against the inarticulate
I shall without doubt in some future
dispensation be required to write
perpetual utterances in the million
millions on some surface that auto-
matically erases each of my promises
never to do it again, never to write
the offending syllable (in which in
contrapasso I am required to repeat my
crime) while some adolescent demon
named Legion gnaws my innocent behind.
I have also used the word rue, even if
ironically in a sentence proclaiming my
righteousness in eschewing such probably
never forgivable archaism—and recently
was denied entry into a Facebook group
whose members take pride in their knowledge
of linguistic esoterica: perhaps because I
happened to mention in the required questions
I flirtatiously answered the death’s head I
recently added to my desktop trivia
collection that also includes a few
dead microprocessors, a pocketknife
and a couple of silver dollars.