Monday, January 14, 2008

Would

would i could muster all the ingeniousness
necessary to master the dizzied mechanations
of your so often distant soul;
to learn a simple clocklike learning
(i always was adept as a pupil)
so that i might pop you open at
any given hour--examine you,
tinker you to feel restored, to
help you function in the ways you like best,
in the ways you were designed,
a diagnosis as perfectly solvable as
an enormous cloud-green nebula or an
uncertain oyster coerved into openness.
(or perhaps you yourself, like
myself, have only a transparent grasping of
that very bone-ridden, most skeletal of
keys, capable only of unrusting your three
decayed rib-hinges. if
this is so, i'm sorry: foolish though it is, i know,
to try to withhold the wishfully redemptive
wetness from my bagged, browbeaten lids is
more saneless than a net seeking to catch the
sea--but i will try; for i would not
more than all, my most submerged friend,
corrode you further.)

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