Weights III

poetry, my life
blood, I suck on them
like medicinal sweeties that can
save me from myself, but
the taste is bitter
and my tongue sharp with pain

so many dreams foundered 
and the latticed blinds keep 
out the light, the truth 
long gone into distance 
and memory, the 
distortions of time

can anything be salvaged 
from such a full cargo, 
so heavy a wreck, 
I clasp the days to me like 
putting on a necklace of 
gems that make the

neck bow
ever-reaching the floor
as it cannot
bear its weight, and my
words are winged from the
open mouth of the pillar-box

to far unseen secreted
corners of the land, to fall
before the
boom and bust tongues,
the raw optic nerves of editors

who have no eyes 
or heart to look 
and truly see - 
and you who 
salve my days like a 
soothing cream, the

tube of which 
will be done 
only weigh me down 
with love -

a life heavy with
poetry running
like a full tide
to crash upon the shore

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