the making of a ruin

I just made 

that poem worse 

now I cannot take out that part 
the things put in to pull off-course 

are too true not to leave. 

Even though art 
must be uglier, less successful, 
failing by degrees to unite and 
cohere, from such inclusions 

too mindful, not thoughtless 
enough, heedless that instinct 
in this case knows better, drop-kick 
the gut which knows, punch intuition 
in the tits and wrench sense and taste 

out of whack 

derail small craft 

foundering now in too-high crest 
and tool-low trough 

of fact. 

Such crafts, alas 
were not made to run 
on track