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Fear death?—to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face, When the snows begin, and the blasts denote I am nearing the place, The power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe; Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go: For the journey is done and the summit attained, And the barriers fall, Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, The reward of it all. I was ever a fighter, so—one fight more, The best and the last! I would hate that death bandaged my eyes and forbore, And bade me creep past. No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness and cold. For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute's at end, And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest!

To take, like water, whatever shape you flow through, fill, or rest in. And to choose that shape. *    *    * As: Brian, become a gangster, six feet from my face. Voice no longer a caress but a sharpened projection, belly a ram in a buttoned vest. The whole body shows the thing done: goat-song in the rites of a god, transforming, starting to speak now through him as he walks on stage. *    *    * Remember when you turned into moonlight, the bark of an oak, an orange going to shreds in your own cold palm? Everything you saw you were, and you saw everything. No choice. That face light gnarled around a tree was your face. *    *    * Flesh is approximate. We clothe it in dreams, wrestling with our eyes closed down through layers: thug, wraith, chieftain, devouring angel (held by my shoulders I am trying to make you stay put) daddy mama breath balm a man a woman in separate desires overlapped. *    *    * Curious, cautious enough to disguise himself as a woman, the voyeur peeks at the rite. Women, leaping, mothers and daughters— their rapt beauty draws him out. The god has tricked him: they will tear him apart. *    *    * As: a virus. Never alive, but a frantic mimicry of life to pierce the cell, make over its orders, move, repeat itself, mutate in sped-up mini-evolution— now it swims the blood, unravels in light, never alive, now it floats on air. Lost in the host a thousand years, inert chemical mechanism asleep in a rain-forest cave. *    *    * To mime— not a statue or a gray accountant picked from the crowd, but a robot. Steel jumpsuit and boots, greasepaint turning the eyelids aluminum. This hand a crank, this grin the edge of a disk, I am Mister Silver Mister Silver—tape loop syncopating over the drum machine. *    *    * As: a child’s toy, its intricate language of joints and swivels, creature within creature: the robot a wolf on silver feet, in his boxy jaw the tiny half-robotic head of a man who will drive the car. *    *    * Who will drive the car to the hospital after the cancer has metastasized? *    *    * These knots rising in my palm— look, in the photo album, he grips the mower like a sad hawk. Grandfather, father, son—flesh tightens, branching genes send up more of the claw each year. After the operation skin comes back thick as bark. *    *    * A boy, a lion, wild boar, snake no one will touch holds the changes. Dream he is a sea god, and he is. Dream he is a stone, a bull, no, a tree rippling over the waves’ quick light, he is shape always becoming, he is a flame and the stream that drowns it.

CALM was the day, and through the trembling air Sweet breathing Zephyrus did softly play, A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair; When I whose sullen care, Through discontent of my long fruitless stay In prince's court, and expectation vain Of idle hopes, which still do fly away Like empty shadows, did afflict my brain, Walked forth to ease my pain Along the shore of silver streaming Thames, Whose rutty bank, the which his river hems, Was painted all with variable flowers, And all the meads adorned with dainty gems, Fit to deck maidens' bowers, And crown their paramours, Against the bridal day, which is not long: Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. There, in a meadow, by the river's side, A flock of nymphs I chanced to espy, All lovely daughters of the flood thereby, With goodly greenish locks, all loose untied, As each had been a bride; And each one had a little wicker basket, Made of fine twigs, entrailed curiously, In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket, And with fine fingers cropt full featously The tender stalks on high. Of every sort, which in that meadow grew, They gathered some; the violet pallid blue, The little daisy, that at evening closes, The virgin lily, and the primrose true, With store of vermeil roses, To deck their bridegrooms' posies Against the bridal day, which was not long: Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. With that, I saw two swans of goodly hue Come softly swimming down along the Lee; Two fairer birds I yet did never see. The snow which doth the top of Pindus strew, Did never whiter shew, Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be For love of Leda, whiter did appear: Yet Leda was they say as white as he, Yet not so white as these, nor nothing near. So purely white they were, That even the gentle stream, the which them bare, Seemed foul to them, and bade his billows spare To wet their silken feathers, lest they might Soil their fair plumes with water not so fair, And mar their beauties bright, That shone as heaven's light, Against their bridal day, which was not long: Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. Eftsoons the nymphs, which now had flowers their fill, Ran all in haste, to see that silver brood, As they came floating on the crystal flood. Whom when they saw, they stood amazed still, Their wondering eyes to fill. Them seemed they never saw a sight so fair, Of fowls so lovely, that they sure did deem Them heavenly born, or to be that same pair Which through the sky draw Venus' silver team; For sure they did not seem To be begot of any earthly seed, But rather angels, or of angels' breed: Yet were they bred of Somers-heat they say, In sweetest season, when each flower and weed The earth did fresh array, So fresh they seemed as day, Even as their bridal day, which was not long: Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. Then forth they all out of their baskets drew Great store of flowers, the honour of the field, That to the sense did fragrant odours yield, All which upon those goodly birds they threw, And all the waves did strew, That like old Peneus' waters they did seem, When down along by pleasant Tempe's shore, Scattered with flowers, through Thessaly they stream, That they appear through lilies' plenteous store, Like a bride's chamber floor. Two of those nymphs meanwhile, two garlands bound, Of freshest flowers which in that mead they found, The which presenting all in trim array, Their snowy foreheads therewithal they crowned, Whilst one did sing this lay, Prepared against that day, Against their bridal day, which was not long: Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. 'Ye gentle birds, the world's fair ornament, And heaven's glory, whom this happy hour Doth lead unto your lovers' blissful bower, Joy may you have and gentle heart's content Of your love's complement: And let fair Venus, that is queen of love, With her heart-quelling son upon you smile, Whose smile, they say, hath virtue to remove All love's dislike, and friendship's faulty guile For ever to assoil. Let endless peace your steadfast hearts accord, And blessed plenty wait upon your board, And let your bed with pleasures chaste abound, That fruitful issue may to you afford, Which may your foes confound, And make your joys redound Upon your bridal day, which is not long: Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.' So ended she; and all the rest around To her redoubled that her undersong, Which said their bridal day should not be long. And gentle echo from the neighbour ground Their accents did resound. So forth those joyous birds did pass along, Adown the Lee, that to them murmured low, As he would speak, but that he lacked a tongue, Yet did by signs his glad affection show, Making his stream run slow. And all the fowl which in his flood did dwell Gan flock about these twain, that did excel The rest so far as Cynthia doth shend The lesser stars. So they, enranged well, Did on those two attend, And their best service lend, Against their wedding day, which was not long: Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. At length they all to merry London came, To merry London, my most kindly nurse, That to me gave this life's first native source; Though from another place I take my name, An house of ancient fame. There when they came, whereas those bricky towers, The which on Thames' broad aged back do ride, Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers There whilom wont the Templar Knights to bide, Till they decayed through pride: Next whereunto there stands a stately place, Where oft I gained gifts and goodly grace Of that great lord, which therein wont to dwell, Whose want too well now feels my friendless case. But ah, here fits not well Old woes but joys to tell Against the bridal day, which is not long: Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer, Great England's glory, and the world's wide wonder, Whose dreadful name late through all Spain did thunder, And Hercules' two pillars standing near Did make to quake and fear: Fair branch of honour, flower of chivalry, That fillest England with thy triumph's fame, Joy have thou of thy noble victory, And endless happiness of thine own name That promiseth the same: That through thy prowess and victorious arms, Thy country may be freed from foreign harms; And great Elisa's glorious name may ring Through all the world, filled with thy wide alarms, Which some brave Muse may sing To ages following, Upon the bridal day, which is not long: Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. From those high towers this noble lord issuing, Like radiant Hesper when his golden hair In th'Ocean billows he hath bathed fair, Descended to the river's open viewing, With a great train ensuing. Above the rest were goodly to be seen Two gentle knights of lovely face and feature Beseeming well the bower of any queen, With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature, Fit for so goodly stature; That like the twins of Jove they seemed in sight, Which deck the baldric of the heavens bright. They two forth pacing to the river's side, Received those two fair birds, their love's delight; Which, at th' appointed tide, Each one did make his bride Against their bridal day, which is not long: Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.

The sensual sap ascends to summer us, and all fronds, greenwoods, lily bands attend our festival. A festival I had more chaste and regular when with the greening globe I seasonally bore my clocked and colored joys. Now, love, I stand exile in the shadow of your praise, errant, unpunctual.

Among these latter busts we count by scores, Half-emperors and quarter-emperors, Each with his bay-leaf fillet, loose-thonged vest, Loric and low-browed Gorgon on the breast,— One loves a baby face, with violets there, Violets instead of laurel in the hair, As those were all the little locks could bear. Now read here. "Protus ends a period "Of empery beginning with a god; "Born in the porphyry chamber at Byzant, "Queens by his cradle, proud and ministrant: "And if he quickened breath there, 't would like fire "Pantingly through the dim vast realm transpire. "A fame that he was missing, spread afar: "The world, from its four corners, rose in war, "Till he was borne out on a balcony "To pacify the world when it should see. "The captains ranged before him, one, his hand "Made baby points at, gained the chief command. "And day by day more beautiful he grew "In shape, all said, in feature and in hue, "While young Greek sculptors gazing on the child "Became, with old Greek sculpture, reconciled. "Already sages laboured to condense "In easy tomes a life's experience: "And artists took grave counsel to impart "In one breath and one hand-sweep, all their art- "To make his graces prompt as blossoming "Of plentifully-watered palms in spring: "Since well beseems it, whoso mounts the throne, "For beauty, knowledge, strength, should stand alone, "And mortals love the letters of his name." -Stop! Have you turned two pages? Still the same. New reign, same date. The scribe goes on to say How that same year, on such a month and day, "John the Pannonian, groundedly believed "A blacksmith's bastard, whose hard hand reprieved "The Empire from its fate the year before,- "Came, had a mind to take the crown, and wore "The same for six years, (during which the Huns "Kept off their fingers from us) till his sons "Put something in his liquor "-and so forth. Then a new reign. Stay-"Take at its just worth " (Subjoins an annotator) "what I give "As hearsay. Some think, John let Protus live "And slip away. 'T is said, he reached man's age "At some blind northern court; made, first a page, "Then tutor to the children; last, of use "About the hunting stables. I deduce "He wrote the little tract 'On worming dogs,' "Whereof the name in sundry catalogues "Is extant yet. A Protus of the race "Is rumoured to have died a monk in Thrace,- "And, if the same, he reached senility." Here's John the Smith's rough-hammered head. Great eye, Gross jaw and griped lips do what granite can To give you the crown-grasper. What a man!

Proud Maisie is in the wood, Walking so early; Sweet Robin sits on the bush, Singing so rarely. "Tell me, thou bonny bird, When shall I marry me?"— "When six braw gentlemen Kirkward shall carry ye." "Who makes the bridal bed, Birdie, say truly?"— "The gray-headed sexton That delves the grave duly. "The glowworm o'er grave and stone Shall light thee steady; The owl from the steeple sing, 'Welcome, proud lady.'"

Somebody has given my Baby daughter a box of Old poker chips to play with. Today she hands me one while I am sitting with my tired Brain at my desk. It is red. On it is a picture of An elk’s head and the letters B.P.O.E.—a chip from A small town Elks’ Club. I flip It idly in the air and Catch it and do a coin trick To amuse my little girl. Suddenly everything slips aside. I see my father Doing the very same thing, Whistling “Beautiful Dreamer,” His breath smelling richly Of whiskey and cigars. I can Hear him coming home drunk From the Elks’ Club in Elkhart Indiana, bumping the Chairs in the dark. I can see Him dying of cirrhosis Of the liver and stomach Ulcers and pneumonia, Or, as he said on his deathbed, of Crooked cards and straight whiskey, Slow horses and fast women.

It’s always darkest before the leopard’s kiss. Where there’s smoke there is emphasis. A bird in the hand is bound for the stove. The pen is no mightier than the soul. Never underestimate the nib of corruption. Better late than suffer the long introduction. All work and no play is the way of  the sloth. If  you can dream it bring the child the moth. He is not wise that parrots the wise. All that glitters has been revised. An idle mind is a sign of  the time. The less things change the more we doubt design.

For Robert Lax 1. I will tell you what you can do ask me if you do not understand what I just said 2. One thing you can do be a manufacturer make appliances 3. Be a Man-u-fac-tu-rer 4. Make appliances sell them for a high price 5. I will tell you about industry make appliances 6. Make appliances that move 7. Ask me if you do not understand what is move 8. First get the facts 9. Where to apply? Ask industry 10. Do not expect to get by without Mr. and Mrs. Consumer 11. Man-u-fic-tion 12. I am wondering if you got the idea be a manu 13. MAKE FALSE GODS 14. Apply mind energy they will move 15. Mention one of the others see what happens 16. Now apply that to our problem 17. Try not to understand 18. Be a mounte-fictioner 19. Surpass all others in price and profit 20. Assail the public with lies 21. Home-spun-facts-are-more-fun repeat this 22. Prevent spreading on garments 23. Breathe more than others 24. Supply movement and traction 25. Our epidemix will exceed 26. A homemade appliance: no honorable mention 27. Now you can refer to garments and spread out 28. But there are still more facts 29. For excitement: say whose epidemic may be next 30. Apply this to the facts and see what happens 31. Wear dermal gloves in bed 32. Here is an appliance that will terrorize mothers 33. And fight the impossible 34. Man-u-fac-ture: wear it on your head 35. Beat it here come the mothers

It was déjà vu all over again. I know this town like the back of my head. People who live in glass houses are worth two in the bush. One hand scratches the other. A friend in need is worth two in the bush. A bird in the hand makes waste. Life isn’t all it’s crapped up to be. It’s like finding a needle in the eye of the beholder. It’s like killing one bird with two stones. My motto in life has always been:Get It Over With. Two heads are better than none. A rolling stone deserves another. All things wait for those who come. A friend in need deserves another. I’d trust him as long as I could throw him. He smokes like a fish. He’s just a chip off the old tooth. I’ll have him eating out of my lap. A friend in need opens a can of worms. Too many cooks spoil the child. An ill wind keeps the doctor away. The wolf at the door keeps the doctor away. People who live in glass houses keep the doctor away. A friend in need shouldn’t throw stones. A friend in need washes the other. A friend in need keeps the doctor away. A stitch in time is only skin deep. A verbal agreement isn’t worth the paper it’s written on. A cat may look like a king. Know which side of the bed your butter is on. Nothing is cut and dried in stone. You can eat more flies with honey than with vinegar. Don’t let the cat out of the barn. Let’s burn that bridge when we get to it. When you come to a fork in the road, take it. Don’t cross your chickens before they hatch. DO NOT READ THIS SIGN. Throw discretion to the wolves. After the twig is bent, the barn door is locked. After the barn door is locked, you can come in out of the rain. A friend in need locks the barn door. There’s no fool like a friend in need. We’ve passed a lot of water since then. At least we got home in two pieces. All’s well that ends. It ain’t over till it’s over. There’s always one step further down you can go. It’s a milestone hanging around my neck. Include me out. It was déjà vu all over again.