I will never sit in the rocking chair
In my declining years, just rocking there,
Watching all the livers living their lives ;
The rain comes down, and then the puddle dries ;
Forward and backwards, crunching the sand
Instead of working poems with my hand,
Or celebrating Shakespeare with my mind,
Not resigning myself to clergymen’s lies .
I will keep on thinking beyond the walls
That close like caskets and hug like claws .
The real boy stiffens like canopy branches
As light fairy–blue studies the brackets
A siren chant that pulls at the order—
Restive, I fret the stage between borders .

*[ WSB ]_.