Monday, November 17, 2014

"Poor Creatures of Abandoned Belief"

The cloud on the horizon
May or may not be. Rising
Winds may. Darling buds may not.
Gods and goddesses can't. Don't
Tempt me with trick enjambments.
I am not the way. Way past
Waywayanda, silly lake

Near nothing much, New Jersey,
A boy on crutches, father
In a wheelchair, grandfather
In a boat for fishing dreamed
Of something much murkier,
Scarier than the waters
Dark, the godless wilderness.

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