A SHEARSMAN OF SORTS
After Wallace Stevens, for Tony Frazer
If I sipped from the bowl of the blue guitar—
If the encroaching they spoke to me—
If I knew how to apply the patch—
*
I can’t sing even a hero’s head,
yet serenade to men and women something
of things as they are.
*
I carry a torch underground,
through a buzzing, wisping, desiring,
and try to exceed myself.
*
The poetry exceeds with the
blue serenade, the hardly final.
Taste the smoky dew.
After Wallace Stevens, for Tony Frazer
If I sipped from the bowl of the blue guitar—
If the encroaching they spoke to me—
If I knew how to apply the patch—
*
I can’t sing even a hero’s head,
yet serenade to men and women something
of things as they are.
*
I carry a torch underground,
through a buzzing, wisping, desiring,
and try to exceed myself.
*
The poetry exceeds with the
blue serenade, the hardly final.
Taste the smoky dew.