"I rarely buy a newspaper, or vote.
To do so, I have learned, is to invite
The tread of a stone guest within my house." -- James Merrill
Defeat needs no narrative, for its shrieks
To do so, I have learned, is to invite
The tread of a stone guest within my house." -- James Merrill
Defeat needs no narrative, for its shrieks
Seem self-assured, like a victory smirk;
The vanquishing king just lets them speak,
Not out of mercy but an inner strategy
That is only as brilliant as it leads
To surrender, and how they never know
The end before it arrives. The politesse
Of luring the hordes to your side …
Are not the stratagems of poesis,
Which all take place in the strata of loss
Where the mind that can make anything wrong
Can no longer swipe at light like a moth
And dare to be right, its sincerity enough
To make the journey virtuous.
It’s up to the heart now to withstand the plot
And to feel its way through the characters
It cannot help but to have turned into,
Knowing, somehow, it has wronged, but turning it
To the good, as the pain recollects
In empty chambers, sounding out the end –
The tragedies after they’ve made the rounds
At the parties and tugged whatever strings
Pity conjures become invisible
But still have a form – call it transcendental.
The vanquishing king just lets them speak,
Not out of mercy but an inner strategy
That is only as brilliant as it leads
To surrender, and how they never know
The end before it arrives. The politesse
Of luring the hordes to your side …
Are not the stratagems of poesis,
Which all take place in the strata of loss
Where the mind that can make anything wrong
Can no longer swipe at light like a moth
And dare to be right, its sincerity enough
To make the journey virtuous.
It’s up to the heart now to withstand the plot
And to feel its way through the characters
It cannot help but to have turned into,
Knowing, somehow, it has wronged, but turning it
To the good, as the pain recollects
In empty chambers, sounding out the end –
The tragedies after they’ve made the rounds
At the parties and tugged whatever strings
Pity conjures become invisible
But still have a form – call it transcendental.