Wednesday, March 1, 2017

March 1(1917-1977)

We need to be replenished
you said in the raw sunlight
from your winter coated voice
with the thrill of again
seeing you on Beacon Hill
on your March first birthday,
Robert Lowell
vying to be a loving witness
from our memory's
insensate masque
of a dusk mirror
by writing out
and reciting out loud
(as you suggest)
our new poetry selections
dreading to recall
our worst past notes
that we have learned
to recognize by now in jest
even the vocal quotes
that will surprise us
in the guest hall
asking for our protection
in the fragile psychic state
of our catholic minds
turning on a local whim
both as a chimera reaction
in a defiant state
of universal corruption
without a psychic description
or any interruption
in our leading words
with a renewed
chemical satisfaction
for a new prescription
or not accepting a compliant fate
as often our local life
defies the strife of definition
from shadows in a poet's corridor
that needs our nature to confess
to her or him.

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