Poetry and Poetics
What, me? Seed-spewing mortal in the cold
And dirty world? Denier of rivers, punk
Child dreamer irresponsible as gold?
Sawed limbs of memories locked in the trunk,
Hopeful helpless fool of lips and eyes?
Weeping fan of pianists, dancers, actors,
Greedy, slothful, weak, in love with lies?
Lust and hatred my quadratic factors?
Well, yes. All that and more. Dim, petty, scared,
I stumble down through these diverse mistakes
And more, more, demon, more, much more, more squared,
Enough to stuff a thousand burning lakes.
Not pride: acknowledgment. O Demon, I thrive
Forgiving, grateful and alive, alive.
© by David Rothman
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