I'll sing hosanas
to the skin
between the bottom
of your tee-shirt
and the top of your
underwear.
Bright William,
how is the pastel
polo shirt faring now;
the horizontal stripes,
the summer is over
and fall's ascendent?
Underneath
the muddy flannel?
I may need to be
ill for a while,
to enjoy citrus
in a new way
and be driven
to long form
reading by boredom
with video and
not anything outward.
It not being
you, King of kings,
necessarily meek,
spritely and very old.
Arsenic and deference,
more painful, somehow,
the less there is.
Bill; this'll not
go away, ever,
if you don't want it.
Hard to be so
hard pressed against
isn't it?
