Millay & The Drunks

Millay & The Drunks

Look at their faces! All of them drunk.

The animated and too bright smile.

Everyone is a neighbor now,

Open handed and free of guile.

I am dying. I wish I were,

If there is a heaven where Haydn and Bach

Sing through the clouds, like heaven's self.

What is the purpose of further talk?

When a poet like Edna Millay -

Gems in transparent mucilage -

So her phrases and pictures and thoughts -

That never age, that never age.

All my innards and all my mind

Relax with poesy, pretty, calm,

After Millay, instead of Keats.

Every rhythm a restive balm.

9-28-13

Keats & Millay

I don't have her beauty.

I don't have her touch.

I read Keats forever.

I read Keats too much.

But I am not Millay.

Keats I am eschewing.

This briars and the thickets

Of words was my undoing.

Perhaps it's what you read

That troubles you, he said.

Will what I read affect me?
It will not raise the dead.

What you are determines

What you read. Perhaps

What you read provokes

An imminent collapse.

Looking for a goal.

Another yearly prince.

Surreptitiously looking -

I've been looking since.

9-28-13

 

Edna Millay

Edna is the poet.

The Yankees played no part.

Her sweet collected lyrics!

The sinews of the heart.

Ideas fall like gems

In a happy clutter

Beautifully right

When the Muses mutter.

9-27-13

The Machine

The machine works! The people,

The representatives,

Solicitous and maudlin

When you telephone

Ask about your health,

“To who have I the pleasure...”

And do not know a thing about

The question you are asking.

Of course if every question

Has a multitude of answers

Then every representative
Is absolutely right.

9-27-13

 

The Smile

Needy people, lonely and distraught,

Are deceivers. People who have not,

Smile while they relieve the ones who've got,

A tiny smile, the corner of the lips

That only an accomplice can perceive,

Sitting in the shadow while she sips

The nectar of the drones, who don't believe.

9-27-13