Poetry

Sui cædere… To make way for grief
A kiss neither betrayed nor swore allegiance
To king or crown, a terrible dinner
Upon which looks the lord on down

Don’t cry on my shoulder,
Don’t lean on or stare at it,
It too, for I just as you has
It gone callous, or

It is too much to bear so
Don’t get put off if you’ve fallen
Don’t expect a veil or lending hand
It takes no pity, doesn’t glimpse at

It, pain or death, immanence from
It, for it — proceeding to [your own] skull
Don’t you die there!
Don’t you [try to] die on me

When I sink
Into wordless sadness,
Sometimes 'it' burns me
Like a flame...

Does the door
At the end of our days
Open to more
Of the same?
 

The coffin was open but
I tried not to look.
I’d seen him out of the corner
of my eye when I walked into
the little church where they
were having his funeral.

I don’t know if he’d ever been
in a church before.
I only went into them when
there was a funeral,
why would I?

His middle son gave the sermon
and a good one,
especially considering who
the old man was, had been.

He was drunken, railroad
Irish and a hard, tough man,
who his oldest son still loved and
maybe his one daughter, too.

Outside in the little cemetery

I know I'll not write
Another poem for you
And I will sing it loud
And hope you hear it too
I may think a thought
But I won't think for you
I know that is not
That which you wish me to do
But my thinking is not for you
But I guess and hope you knew
And as I am here thinking
About you and my debunking
Now I say this is true
I'll never write another thought for you