Three Times

“My theme is alwey oon, and evere was—Radix malorum est Cupiditas.”
~The Pardoner’s Tale.

And we together, wrought
by a thunderbolt of azure
eyes and snow white boots;
tales taught by a pompous
ass; and a love as giving as
a striking moon.

And I, hypocrite, solely
taking at every promise
to give only, proferring
failure to each eager hope,
loving desperately in
atonement for every
poisoned bottle and stab
at Death.

After three times a decade
in receipt of more than
just desert; still guarding
rotten relics like a cankered
banker; grasping like an aged
beggar for another day,
another hour in your company;
and never bearing to think
it profligate to assume.

Beloved, you are my full
compass. My sustenance,
my respite, and my cure.
The branch to my root,
the vein to my pooling blood,
the opening to my every door.

And greed–if my resilient,
teeming yen for you be such–
must coat my every evil organ
like the finest mist.

[for Julie]

Since Cincinnati

Since Cincinnati,
like an old-school promise
to love me forever,
packing up our new
old typewriters and
looking for a straighter
answer to the perplexities
of evolution.

Friendly dinosaurs and
dragon myths;
Adam, the first love,
and the advent of
burdensome toil;
the bloody clods of
sibling rivalry and keeping
brothers; the measurement of
salvation gauged in gopher wood cubits,
molded with animatronics,
desperate belief and, of course,
that passionate intensity.

Breaking for cigarettes
on a clotted highway,
and gaining on Nashville
by moon.

[For Paul and Libby, April 20, 2016]