Month: January 2018

Today my pen challenges

for a poem that is not just another scar or bruise

but a true and innocent gaiety.

                      I know I will only find it

                     where the given exceeds desire and need,

                     where senses are freed from all anxiety.

But my pen is an idealist,

an indelible fanatic, a razor-edged puritan, poor thing,

dreaming of calligraphic ecstasy.

                      Like me

                     it will have to seem to live

                     with music of a mordent theme.