poetry drips and
falls drips and
falls from the
leaves of April’s
house drips
and falls like rich
milk useless In the
mouths of
my countrymen whose
teeth grow early and
crooked whose
tongues lick lies
drips and falls on
fetid infertile
fields sown
In war in
salt in
blood
and
innocence
whose mouths suck end-
less-
ly whose
gullets swallowed their
own hearts and yet
gape
unsatis-
fied
I slouch east
through
my all-day mornings, a
clipper-ship shadow
just ahead of a
wake of poems
and mistakes
strewn behind me–
the paper trail, eternal
monuments to fleeting impressions
mistakes
and clumsy
attempts
at covering
my crimes
The Raven's Bough 