Tom Brokaw

Tom Brokaw is a beautiful person.
	By beautiful I mean communicating disease

as in the pythgorean theorem swiped at by mud-covered tribes
The incident of my subtraction Tom thought. White
as Rauschenberg's supposed rudeness

Forget that night & your wet socks. Low-flying engines. She'll never happen again.

		Did he jump, Tom, did he! And it's fall in the Southern Hemispere
		Of towels, gross raging, the shits again
		
			Febrile men -- wept, whacked out: I've got to go big distances...
			
	Well-hung & snow-white trash.
	The furniture was heavy falling also.
	Is this physics or ambivalence?		No matter.		Tom remains
sequestered,

					loves them amidst news
				of child abuse & lake effect snow. His news, a series
of vibrations their sadness
	& visions bring into relief.
Beyond toejams, landfills, caviar.		The despondent correspondent
	pushing all those riotous grey sheep
		into a quiet form of media.