this necessary exercise

every man, deep down,

should know what truths

he dares not confront,

what truths make his little soul

shrink and shrivel,

and he who has not done 

this necessary exercise

is not worthy of being deemed

a man of reason

Nothing that I do

Nothing that I do
has the heart in it.
all feels tired and burdensome
in excess.
Like a straw three-piece
on the hottest say of summer.

always there is somebody

the modern-day oracle told me
you and I
have so many pending dawns
together.

to know that evil resides
in your body
is an ugly truth, yet makes your body
not ugly though,
in its angled flickering.

what really is loss?
what if you never saw again your beloved home?
touch again those books,
the fine linens,
as fine as your face...

to know that there is
such terrible corruption
beyond the limits of our garden...
unsettling, disquieting images
percolate and suffuse my brittle dreams

in fog, and  in dawn - sacrament? -
all things look purer.
all the easier to be shattered
by the rushed brute hand that cares not
and cuts branches in haste.

let our dawns not take that shape.

always there is somebody
willing to lend an axe to he who wants cut