Confessional
Poetry
Man
Here
you
are
again
armed
with
yourself,
floppy
hat,
Cross
pen,
watermark
bond,
going
out
into
the
great
day
ignoring
the
dark
clouds.
With
each
step,
a
wondrous
thing
you
think,
you
move
against
the
ignorant
children
shouting
on their
way
to school.
You
notice
the
leaves.
You
notice
the
birds.
You
notice
Whitman’s
beard
in
the
puddle
at your
feet.
Just
think,
all
the
puddles
fill
with
your
portraits,
windows
with
your
dramatic
grin.
Your
wings
melt
when
you
stare
at the
breaking
clouds.
Come
with Us
The
darkness flees
through
the holes of evening
as
we walk the avenues
dusted
by streetlights.
The
sleet begins
and
pings on the streets—
our
numerous countenances
bring
long stares.
We
do not
own
the dark
night
nor follow
the
moon’s
burning
path.
We
own our breath
and
walk in circles—
everything
round
and
continuous.
We
continually
meet
ourselves
while
the banks
and
courthouses
dim
and look
sternly
away.