Rogue rivers run fugitive
in their shot-gun marriage
to you. Thieves and penitents
freeway fall through the night;
centuries of preying decays
each bead of its relevance despite
the promise sweat and tears display.
When it’s time, you’ll know it’s right.
Why do you keep doing this to yourself?
’Could be in the arms of Matthew, Mark,
Luke, or a john—someone—anybody—else.
Does suffering so much for your art
make nothing into something? Wealth
hasn’t changed you, but, your heart
must burn a little less; kindling bookshelves
with the thing you can’t ever possess.
Sometimes effort needs a little rest.
At some cost and great trouble,
you’ll find it storms in like a wind
but always leaves like a breath. Have all
your courtiers count it again;
how some men can seem so subtle
when their gifts are really given against
the debt humiliation makes humble…
they’re not that great; but gold and men
lose their weight when exchanged so often.