Scenery overflows the riversFlooding the lake with bountiful imagesExpanding the water that lines the eyeFlooding the mind,RepeatedlyUntil it can no longer contain the soaked shores,Until like so many dams wreaked byNegligence and shameIt gives way to the torrential influx ofImageAfterImageSo bombarded that it fails to distinguishBetween a water worldAnd its ownSo over-filled that it is beyond
Up until the borderline of sunriseTwo swaying blades of grassEtch outlines of lips and ginPleasure the object of their stemLonesome the ground around their rootsThey seek comfortIn the soft undergrowth of a lawnThe reminders that come fromYears of being mowed down
There are people out thereRight nowThat are happyNot just in piecesOr here and thereBut as a wholeThey feel like they are okayThey are capableOf doing what they wantWithout spending an hour or twoJust lying in bedWaiting for vials of neurochemicalsTo charge up their brainOr sleeping enough to get lostIn the paralyzed roomsOf their own inner conflicts
The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing,The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,And the YearOn the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,Is lying.Come, Months, come away,From November to May,In your saddest array;Follow the bierOf the dead cold Year,And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling,The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knellingFor the Year;The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone
I never lost as much but twice,And that was in the sod.Twice have I stood a beggarBefore the door of God!Angels -- twice descendingReimbursed my store --Burglar! Banker -- Father!I am poor once more!
The weight of misfortune has stooped my shouldersBut I don’t intend to stop for a good while yet;I afflict my own destinyAnd don’t want anyone to mourn for my fate.I’ve made peace with God on my lossesAnd agreed with him on the epitaphsThat should be written about my senseless wars.