4844. C. K. WILLIAMS

C. K. WILLIAMS

(there are no christian virtues)

I'm reading the words of a poet who's dying,

and (if you must know) it's making me sad.

Each little kindred thing  -  down the drain

again. My God how many memories hurt.

There's no snuffbox now between Magnolia's

knees  -  she spread them so long ago 

lest her guy go mad.

-

I'm reading the words of a poet who's dead.,

and God it's making me sad. Why should we

have to die? We should live forever; we good 

men, we soldiers of the road, we valiant warriors.

Every day is another deep freeze  -  frozen heart

and frozen emotion. Here, I am walking through

the crunch of an iced-over snow. The light

is just coming on in the canyon.

-

And I already have to leave.  I already have

to leave : reading a dead man's letters, to what

can my main heart cleave? 10am on a rotten

train filled with men and women alive  -  to

nothing, by contrast, really  :  lipstick and

face gloss, dainty brassieres and fingers

with rings, heels and shined shoes everywhere.

I am but a poet; by comparison, bedraggled.

We really should live forever.