This is the darkest winter I have seen.
Not in the malcontented Gloucester sense
But waking to the rain and snow and sounds
With nothingness as palpable as nouns
Confounds the eyes and scotches sana mens;
Until now nothing is as what it might have been.
Who to people offer many choices?
Joan of Domrémy heard only voices;
Selections confuse
the heartiest chooser;
Choices abuse
The abused and abuser.
The chatter of pain informs the best
Walls abounding, and no rain
Washes away the fester, the hot
Black sun rot of tired lunacy.
Straight razors
Given unto the people patented
In slipcases with yellow celluloid
Handles to hold flattened in the fingers.
And hollow ground steel
A flexible joint and happy
Smooth results
For babybottom cheeks or
Cut veins and clean death
With aseptic blood on wipable tiles
To be flushed with strong
Ammonia
Into the drains of the indifferent world.
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