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and in the evening, sirens sound
as years before, upon Ulysseus' rock,
though now from highways, atop patrol cars:
they sing the same, of life and things
beyond my shallow shores.
like, too, that noble mariner
ill-fated, long from home
we yearn for hearth and heather,
or even battle's lust--
friend-god Athene connives, but little comfort gives
to us who sail alone.




april '11

in heaven, while lounging over coffee, we had a generic uproar about politics on earth.

just kidding.