Love keeps going down
to the lowest places.
Why not let it go,
I wonder,
but no.
You’ll have that too.
Insatiable
are You.
Love keeps going down
to the lowest places.
Why not let it go,
I wonder,
but no.
You’ll have that too.
Insatiable
are You.
I myself am that cloud
blotting God out,
the snow
drifting the fence
How can all your life compress to a single moment
and all of it be air after all, you perfectly placed by your miss
to see every second of the consequence, your rival
(who you’d have dropped every other time
with ease) now galloping free, strutting in fact,
into the end zone with the prize –
all his life now made
in that one second
that was once
yours.
That’s not that far, really. I’d have thought
you needed to go further to be significant
in this day and age. Hell, two deviations,
I get those in before breakfast, and we’re
not even close yet to considering those places
where people usually go astray.
He’s gonna rattle that cup rattle rattle
till I turn around.
His bones will fill that cup rattle rattle
before my change will.
Rattle rattle, rattle rattle rattle
It was the Pope, I believe, who said
we shouldn’t close our eyes when praying,
that we could get stuck in there.
I had my eyes open when I read this,
and often do, but he’s right about
delicious doors closed against the world.
You can back up forever closing door after door.
A room’s never too small to hold another door.
Two more days and the days will get longer.
Voice of someone else and the wilding of the mind.
Just a bit more light. I promise I’ll get stronger.
Voice of someone else and the wilding of the mind.
Wake up and crush the world your apple
with a mighty hand
!
I went on shaving.
Many is the mickle, many the much.
?
Better than this I’d like to have done.
But better is butter for later.
Once a girl came knocking wanting
a priest but got me:
Would there be, were I to,
hell for my plate?
Who are you, why would you
ask me this thing?
I’m forlorn, twice gone, thrice ripped and stillborn –
and I would go.
Go not, promise please,
to this place that’s not there.
But go, she went, brief girl to the fair.
His chair, his bed
four children and a tree