Looking at You, Twenty-Four Years On
We remember imperfectly, thank God;
you across to me; me across to you.
Still some measure of sympathy, I guess:
parity, we realized early on,
is one sure recipe for disaster —
April 24, 2012 · 1 Comment
Old, Old Seamus
was thirty-five and looking for death in
every phrase; would meet you half-way if you thought you couldn’t get at it. He knew what you were saying. He’d find it. Was every month now giving me another Mishima novel
March 27, 2012
A Retiring
With no way to get up there anymore
without hitching a ride with the old enemy;
disgraceful maybe, or just over-trusting.
The world stage changes ever faster these days.
March 16, 2012
The Orris: A Cultural Journal 