18 something to 19 something

I try to read them
the old poets
So called prose
dressed only in their dust jackets

memories not my own
fragments of thoughts
mostly of war and winter soldiers
So called  prose,

I find it difficult
to navigate their language
under the blanket of time

Things so large and important
passed with them
most unresolved
and without jackets
now themselves subjected to dust,

My interpretation -
after a refreshing beverage,
seams the right one.

 

Z. Corwin