A poem…”untitled”

It is often
I languish in this poet’s soul
making lines where there ought be circles
trying to make sense out of the infernal madness
God, I wish you had made me simple
for carpentry or metallurgy
angles and mixing things
for in these words
these contemptuous words
we are more often paupers and laughing stocks
but sweet this addiction to writing
it’s calling like sailors to post,
man of war to killing
God to confounding

I think I was always this “thing”
under strong drink and loose women
trying to hide
be something else
but I know nothing, can do nothing
except what you attend
if this be my cross
let me bare it
My Great Grandmother’s God
I wonder if I ever really knew you
If anyone can
but in this writing may I find you
if you are as she said
show me mercy
full of melancholy, violence and tears
is my worried heart
the people suffer in their own ignorance
sit under my window and sing me sleep
lest my heart explode
for it is full of your lesser blessings
and knows not which way is home…


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