the why maybe

with the speed of culture perpetuated by technology and its accesses (/excesses) and the (overly) imperative of artistic innovation, the state of things (art, music, poetry) seems like a sloppy piling on of hands (the schoolyard game to determine first dibs). maybe that's what's prompting all of these "after" poems--to acknowledge the inevitable pastiche, to make explicit my lack of patience, refinement.