When you punished me I went blue-blind in Chartres Cathedral,
streaking from nave to choir,
this place won't last, that it has
only means that it has.
Luck, Fortunata, Christ...
some savior's balm keeping boars at bay;
but what if the citizens of the village
had not decided to pivot
in seventeen-something, to block
the Revolution from exploding the whole fašade...
would anything worthwhile have been saved?
Blown up Bamiyan Buddhas or Shropshired away,
sorry mausoleum, soggy cultural display.
And your laughter at the aliens of another era grows warm.
And Mozart is complaining in the halls that Bach is overplayed.
As your laughter at the aliens of another era consumes.
Time and time again. The man in the morning performs,
takes the cake of his briefcase to Luton airport north of London
and ends it all as he left it all the night before when no one came.
And my best friends are traveling to India, Chile, Malaysia.
They've packed Burgess and Morrissey and Bartlett pear cider.
They hurt my feelings because they laughed at my sneakers.
But they approved of the way I've been approaching the seasons.
As I've aged I've grown simpler.
As I've aged I've relaxed them.
I no longer speak of math or Marseille.
I no longer write on shop windows.
I have no more ink.
I drink chamomile tea.
I take tea with my coffee.
I criticize my figure,
tend to perseverate,
aim to agree,
O who's that apple coming down the hallway now?
Oh it's mother,
Back with the brown paper bags,
Your Cheerio's, my craft beer,
Though I'm only eight-years-old
I favor fine IPAs, a good Belgian
White, place hops in my scrotum and wait...