I Grow Old On My

Blind With Love, My Daughter Has Cried Nightly For Horses, Those Long-necked Marchers And Churners That She Has Mastered, Any And All, Reigning Them In Like A Circus Hand.

Yet Love Enters My Blood Like An I.v., Dripping In Its Little White Moments.

If I Could Blame It On All The Mothers And Fathers Of The World, They Of The Lessons, The Pellets Of Power, They Of The Love Surrounding You Like Batter ... Blame It On God Perhaps? He Of The First Opening That Pushed Us All Into Our First Mistakes? No, I'll Blame It On Man For Man Is God And Man Is Eating The Earth Up Like A Candy Bar And Not One Of Them Can Be Left Alone With The Ocean For It Is Known He Will Gulp It All Down. The Stars (possibly) Are Safe. At Least For The Moment. The Stars Are Pears That No One Can Reach, Even For A Wedding. Perhaps For A Death.

I Have A Black Look I Do Not Like. It Is A Mask I Try On. I Migrate Toward It And Its Frog Sits On My Lips And Defecates.

Our Children Tremble In Their Teen-age Cribs, Whirling Off On A Thumb Or A Motorcycle.