It Is A Dead Heart. It Is

When The Cow Gives Blood And The Christ Is Born We Must All Eat Sacrifices. We Must All Eat Beautiful Women.

I Find Now, Swallowing One Teaspoon Of Pain, That It Drops Downward To The Past Where It Mixes With Last Year’s Cupful And Downward Into A Decade’s Quart And Downward Into A Lifetime’s Ocean. I Alternate Treading Water And Deadman’s Float.

I Sit At My Desk Each Night With No Place To Go, Opening The Wrinkled Maps Of Milwaukee And Buffalo, The Whole U.s., Its Cemeteries, Its Arbitrary Time Zones, Through Routes Like Small Veins, Capitals Like Small Stones.

Even Without Wars, Life Is Dangerous.

Oh Sharp Diamond, My Mother! I Could Not Count The Cost Of All Your Faces, Your Moods That Present That I Lost. Sweet Girl, My Deathbed, My Jewel-fingered Lady...