Folks must have wearied
of my villanelles
long since—written
because I’m harried
from day to day by
worries—
promptings that prick me
in my blood,
so that I never weary
of drinking my
formal-poem-aid—
rhymes that chime like
an off-bell,
harrying
me into some new way
of attacking the
puzzle
of my life. Long past
wearied
of waiting to hear one true word
spoken, though from the teeth of hell,
harrassed by words like
harpies:
I beg pardon for anything
I’ve said
that was ugly or
hurtful,
and I thank from my soul
all whose blessed
patience I’ve wearied!
