How again else
do
our eyes these
dauntless drops drum of sorrow
...
I have wept now these whole thirty long years
Dating from this very first day of your ever living death
Yours and our dearly beloved son’s
Hoping desperately that it was something really:
...
Ash is solemn sobriety
and
a birthlong cultivated contrition
...
Joshua says to be still
and know that he is god
only there's no knowing
as always with him
...
A woman's bosom's precipitous softness
you are inveigled into
is a suspect phenomenon
you do not know
...
Perhaps art
is only a tender attempt
in a moment of visceral audacity -
no more than a prenatally lame child's leaping
...
You will sit often with terminal tenderness
By the bed burdened
With your enfeebled father's ebbing mind and
Ponder the deranged debris: the ponderous
...
And now that the left hand
So virtuously and sublimely
Knows not what the right is doing
Has hell then been kept at bay?
...
And so you foundered
your way back towards
the anguished crossroads
...