I
A manly ambler, twice my size, advancing
matching, reaching, meeting, threatening
and leaving me to dust my jacket off.
Half my age and treble athlete that I
ever am, can't be a poet in my
stride. He hasn't lived the life I've lived,
he hasn't done the time to run my miles.
II
Cascading, rushing poems from the well,
overflowing, drowning us, where
we once went in desperate droughts to draw.
Now draw us into clouds and bring the vilest
evil to do battle out of hell.
No comments:
Post a Comment