Jul 1, 2010
No more my splintered heart and maddened hand were turned against the wolfish world.
All types of little faces,
the faces are everywhere,
the way every imperceptible
atom means a face, and all
sub-atomics, faces, faces filling
arenas, fixed on warm, lighted
centers: just where your dead
and mine ought to sit: in one stadium
they watch and interpret, applaud
each among us our obvious ends,
and applaud us and flak
our backs as we pattern into them and watch
the rest: formless heroes, living
daily against their deaths, balling
modest hope: one wolf: chained let it
pace, hackle and whimper, all through
rage and rising water; apologize
like an angry god; it cannot leave.
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July 01, 2010