a sample

And how sweet it is to subtly

fade

and from behind the scenes

scent the warmth

of the unaffected, undirected, unassuming

And how warm it is to forget

me

and blended with the wall

pen in hand

watch the kindling flames of my living kindred

And how many years to gently

break

and gentlier remake

paper ties

those first-born, pre-forged—into this bond of

(burdened, burnished)

death and life—how

full of burning glory and

sweet-brimming mercy

love, God; enough,

Enough! for

the world

and you pour

a sample into

my own, poor, withered, sullen,

heart. It beats. And what--

Did I say—did I say---O!

I told you it was worthless, this love

that it was wasted on worms

that you should take it

and bleed on another's grave

to make them clean

and thus, succinctly, effectively

spurned

my birthright

Did I say—did I step—O!
With my unholy shod feet

on your ravaged dead body

to pretend it never happened

that I was not responsible,

and therefore could not profit

like the rest

of the world

Because, naturally, you did it for love alone

There was no obligation. Did I sin?

Well, I can't help that. Don't love me, then.

Didn't I tell you they tortured me?

Aren't you to blame for that?

Or isn't that to blame for everything?

Didn't I tell you--

that I was not responsible,

and therefore could not profit

like the rest

of the world

Did I—Did I say—O.

You hold that foot of mine

Like Jacob, like Achilles

So that when I turn away (perpetually, invariably)

I twist and spin

Back to you at the zenith of tension

With a dislocated hip

and untold blessing

Relic of my Reclusive Friday Delvings into Postmodern Philosophy. Nature of Delvings: Flann O' Brien's At Swim-Two-Birds

It's bloody difficult, I think

to think postmodernly,

with each translucent blink

of life-hypocrisy.

all intellect is only ache

preponderous with lies

so gentlemen, partake

my cake of sophistries.

Bemoaning Insufficiency

Yesterday, on a whim,

Off the oft-beaten path,

I met a bohemian crew.

I had known them before—

no, not them, but their like—

in those days of the corner-hid you.

You were quiet, reserved,

Unobtrusive, resigned

That this transient, lucid array

Would never admit you

one sliver of gold

Would elude your perception alway

Sweet the laughter, rung clear

through that house once a year--

So you stretched a pretentious domain--

I had known them before

You had known them, and o

even since, we are awkwardly plain.

Tell the grand happenstance

Feverish Spain romance

of the boils of pestilent sleep

she is searching, and see,

it is piercing for me,

one whose plumbings are not very deep

I can see her espy

through one half of one eye

Every twist of the pencilate curl

I deny for the nonce

that she knew me at once,

she the faraway intimate girl.

Could we face her again

Face the crew of them, there

Having nothing so little as we

Track their fingers through dust

Of our mindless mistrust

In which lock we have broken the key...

And unsure, o unsure

how to ache and endure

the exposure of infinite lack

all my life all my song

is invalid and wrong

no such person as you, take it back--

take it back--

take it back.

Take it back.

I want somebody new.