GRACE YE MY
'No poem can be a poem that is not
a statement from the powers in control
of our life.' Well maybe I guess yes,
perhaps, or so. In charge of my own
life are words and demonstrations. If
you cannot put up, better shut up.
Nothing past the mark is the
I have taken leave of my senses, long
ago, over things like this. Your sister's
long tablecloth, being worn like a dress,
yes, does her well. And how I wish I
was there. Within the folds, as it were,
of her wonderful winding troth.
Just this morning, in walking past the
graveyard once more with that whistling
dog that the carnage has brought me, I
stopped a moment to read the Titanic guy's
stone. Again. Then I looked about and
realized they had all but opened, were
empty and gone, fled to something,
I was there, but alone. Maybe
that was my poem.