Do not let the bow scare you;

         it is for drawing back—

shit flows downhill he who loves power
gets to be king he who loves love
gets to be priest kings and priests

Destination, in the land of never enough,
   is the cornice of all I can give / all that I know,
         given over to deep blue sky.

My father lies at the end of my white coat,
witnessing his own angiography. He jokes,

There was a contest
once
for the best picture
of a peach

And I say my poems are getting too loose
flopping like clothes on a line
bright colored Bodies

I make this line
my beast
of claw of tooth

Calmly clouded Tuesday.
The chateau is closed.
Nothing glitters.