A poem.

A poem so great

that it actually seems

like torture itself

torture to know

so much sweetness

can be given

and can be taken away.

Derelict

In snowy, muddy shores

Like a shipwreck of my own invention

Coming of age, a boy

Tosses the letter towards the debris

concocting the life-to-be

of what was once his good intentions

From "Death under glass"

Going down,

He tore at the long weeds

as one might tear a gown.

Suffering comes to people as war comes to countries

And issues are clarified. Others are completely lost.

Let me know

Waiting for time to tell

growing back body hair

These feathers from Denmark

sleeping under your spell

FUCK

KNIFE

ENTER

SHOT

THAMES

SILVER

GALLOP

PLUM

MASK

KNIT

Small Prayer

Change, move, dead clock, that this fresh day

May break with dazzling light to these sick eyes.

Burn, glare, old sun, so long unseen,

That time may find its sound again, and cleanse

What ever it is that a wound remembers

After the healing ends.

[Weldon Kees]