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No crooked leg, no bleared eye, No part deformed out of kind, Nor yet so ugly half can be As is the inward suspicious mind.

O Friend! I know not which way I must look For comfort, being, as I am, opprest, To think that now our life is only drest For show; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook, Or groom! — We must run glittering like a brook In the open sunshine, or we are unblest: The wealthiest man among us is the best: No grandeur now in nature or in book Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore: Plain living and high thinking are no more: The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.

Oh Fortune, thy wresting wavering state Hath fraught with cares my troubled wit, Whose witness this present prison late Could bear, where once was joy’s loan quit. Thou causedst the guilty to be loosed From bands where innocents were inclosed, And caused the guiltless to be reserved, And freed those that death had well deserved. But all herein can be nothing wrought, So God send to my foes all they have thought.

For the Briarcliff High School class of 1986 Just what I needed, Just when the dreams had almost totally receded, The dreams of roles for which I learned no lines and knew no cues, Dreams of pop quizzes with no pants on and no shoes, Just when I understood I was no longer among Those ephemeral immortals, the gauche and pitiable young, Suddenly come phone calls, messages sift out of the air To ask who will be there: Names I haven't given a thought to in a score (A score!) of years, and names I used to think about but don't much anymore, And those I think of all the time and yet Have lost somehow like keys to doors I've closed, and some I have tried to forget— And some who will never arrive at this date Here in the distant future where we wait Still surprised at how We carry with us the omnipresent and ever-changing now. We wince at what we used to wear, Fashion has made ridiculous the high hubris of our hair. Heartbreak, looked at through the wrong end of distance's glasses, Is trivial, and quickly passes, Its purity embarrasses us, its lust, The way we wept because it was unjust. Why should we travel back, who've come so far— We know who we are. How can we be the same As those quaint ancestors we have left behind, who share our name— Why have we inherited their shame?

Much suspected by me, Nothing proved can be, Quoth Elizabeth prisoner.

Bewitched the boys were out in force Drunken- ness and lust —and full moon bouncing back and forth that black above the bars * Last night it burned cigarette tip thru old blanket hole-punched gray paper sky Tonight it outright blinded One headlight or drive-in sci-fi eye * I’ve been alone long enough Even the moon wears a ring and is full

Wyatt resteth here, that quick could never rest; Whose heavenly gifts increased by disdain, And virtue sank the deeper in his breast; Such profit he of envy could obtain. A head, where wisdom mysteries did frame, Whose hammers beat still in that lively brain As on a stith, where some work of fame Was daily wrought, to turn to Britain’s gain. A visage, stern and mild; where both did grow, Vice to condemn, in virtues to rejoice; Amid great storms whom grace assured so, To live upright and smile at fortune’s choice. A hand that taught what might be said in rhyme; That reft Chaucer the glory of his wit; A mark the which (unperfited, for time) Some may approach, but never none shall hit. A tongue that served in foreign realms his king; Whose courteous talk to virtue did enflame Each noble heart; a worthy guide to bring Our English youth, by travail unto fame. An eye whose judgment no affect could blind, Friends to allure, and foes to reconcile; Whose piercing look did represent a mind With virtue fraught, reposed, void of guile. A heart where dread yet never so impressed To hide the thought that might the truth avaunce; In neither fortune lift, nor so repressed, To swell in wealth, nor yield unto mischance. A valiant corps, where force and beauty met, Happy, alas! too happy, but for foes, Lived, and ran the race that nature set; Of manhood’s shape, where she the mold did lose. But to the heavens that simple soul is fled, Which left with such, as covet Christ to know Witness of faith that never shall be dead: Sent for our health, but not received so. Thus, for our guilt, this jewel have we lost; The earth his bones, the heavens possess his ghost. Amen.

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe-- Sailed on a river of crystal light, Into a sea of dew. "Where are you going, and what do you wish?" The old moon asked of the three. "We have come to fish for the herring fish That live in this beautiful sea; Nets of silver and gold have we!" Said Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. The old moon laughed and sang a song, As they rocked in the wooden shoe, And the wind that sped them all night long Ruffled the waves of dew. The little stars were the herring fish That lived in that beautiful sea-- "Now cast your nets wherever you wish-- Never afeard are we!" So cried the stars to the fishermen three: Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. All night long their nets they threw To the stars in the twinkling foam--- Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe, Bringing the fishermen home; 'T was all so pretty a sail it seemed As if it could not be, And some folks thought 't was a dream they 'd dreamed Of sailing that beautiful sea--- But I shall name you the fishermen three: Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, And Nod is a little head, And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one's trundle-bed. So shut your eyes while mother sings Of wonderful sights that be, And you shall see the beautiful things As you rock in the misty sea, Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three: Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.

(she opens the door) (he is twelve inches away) her fingers still splayed across the battened-down brass latch of his sternum (she closes the door) (he is eight feet away) her palm skids down the banister clings to the fluted globe of the finial (he is twenty-eight feet away) (she opens the door) the black air is fast flowing and cold (she closes the door) she clutches her thin intimacy tight under her chin and trips down the steps (he is forty feet away) the stiff wind palpably stripping his scent from her hair from the numb fingers she raises to her mouth a cab pulls up (she opens the door) she bends the body hitherto upright (she closes the door) the cracked brown vinyl (he is ninety feet away) biting the backs of her thighs red blotches suffusing her cheeks I’m sorry please stop she says (he is four hundred feet away) please stop the cab (she opens the door) the cab stops she pushes a twenty through the slot (he is seven hundred feet away) (she closes the door) the husk of something dry and light falls to the sidewalk crumbles away (she opens the door) (he is two feet away) (she closes the door)

His superpower was that his testicles manufactured sperm with exclusively X chromosomes & that was ironic because not only was he a beast to women but his 40 baby girls grew up seeking men like the father they barely saw unless they went to his studio to be painted which wasn’t OK with their mothers who were not only jealous but guilty of giving birth to girls who were products of an X-chromosome-making monster & would soon suffer at the hands of other monsters with X- type sperm thereby assuring the continuation of suffering & meanwhile all the girls became writers who slouched from sitting at desks & being daughters & lovers of beasts.