I have sadness

Like a pocketful of change,

Which jangles

At the commerce of my despair–

Nobly kind,

And heartlessly fair.

While the scale of my injustices


A tether, so fine,

I fail to recognize

The responsibility as mine.


Still–narrow and vague,

Shadows cloud my resolve–

A film of oil on

The surface of my thoughts.

Basically clear,

But murky in spots.


I crave the marrow

         of love,

And chew on useless bone.



Winter 1986

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