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The Litany of Disparagement

I drove, but I didn't turn.
I spoke, but I didn't learn.
I warmed, but I didn't burn.

Cards held too close to my chest,
I loved the roads running west,
Old shoes and a leather vest.

I never reached my floodmark.
The dog is a distant bark.
The tunnel whirls in the dark.

The nurse bends low over me.
With hands and skeleton key,
She opens Death's mystery.

Pray, for the willows must shake.
Ripples must die in the lake.
I am the life I forsake.


 



The Atlantic Monthly; January 1997; The Litany of Disparagement; Volume 279, No. 1; page 46.



 

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