An Age in an Instant

It’s a poor question to ask—
Should poetry bring comfort

Or dissent? What unsettles
One mind, one part of our mind,

Invariably comforts
Another, and another

Now finds itself unsettled.
The mind transfers force between

Its skulled spheres—one at the end
Always flies up into air.

Well, comfort the unsettled,
Upset the comfortable,

You emend. Oh, that sounds good,
Just like something a settled,

Comfortably successful,
Hardworking poet might say.

Look, I would be delighted
To soothe one raw soul, one day.