So it�s come to this:
clinging to the eaves
above the icy driveway
I think I begin to see
the way to graceland
watching movies starring
former friends bent over
glasses spelling disarray
from flux to form
from sin to sanctity
It�s how I order my world
in envelopes of drunken time
excused by no one, no thing
forgiving everything
wiping wrongs from the slate
No resistance to memory,
no police to cease my remembering
of better times autumnal
sheltered under the merciful eye
of nostalgia
So that�s how it is:
Where once I wrote
a thousand poems
now I organize one thought
and hope I wake up in time
To absorb the teaching
the orthodox rituals
that will make me whole in time,
my instinct hearkening back
to ignorant bliss