Drug

Well, as if it were that,

I pause for its coming,

I stand at its parting,

For its sight the better,

Avert neck, dart eyes.


I wish it were her, but it's not them, at least.

It's definiteless though deictic, and as

It hamstrings ken, spits, too, at the Infinite.


A substitute nymph

Plywood splints what was better.

Earns thanks without asking, taking or deserving.


O would it were beauty!

Would then it were love.

But that walker wears poetry's name.