All Poets Return to Undulating Silence

I have wilted eyes for a manic mysticism

I am love songs that have known themselves

Too long, I look at old men, and little girls at play

And wonder why they will do it all over again!

Like the perfect demeanor of the fainting afternoons

Star-pennies for the dying oceans, love’s double-chin

Against the human brilliance, epic failures

I have sought to create a dormant fountain

That could contain all of humanity’s feeling

But in the absence of success and possession

The goblets of dawn were smashed in their vases

And my guitar cried no longer for human songs

And I grew old in landscapes too familiar

The arc of my cry weeps for impossible distances

Like the bow of a viola, whose girlish hands play me no more. 

Reviews

[Corset]

I remember this poetry and this is where the curtained door slammed on bliss in cracked faced plaster and impossible distances, such beautiful poetry, why are you no longer writing? I read this and I wonder where are the glowing reviews this so richly deserves?