I am here, Kathy, or there, Kathy, or anywhere
but what does it matter to you whether
I am by the hard-pebbled frost or the blackberry-fair
of the hedges or even the hidden hithering
and thithering of imaginary scenes? What is this bare
cold tell-tale talking to unresponsive air?
Ah, Kathy, Kathy, what would you have me be –
a new man or a kind man or a sunken thorn-theorising
intellectual, a rampant lover, a bitter pea
popped from a torn pod, or less, or more, than thrones,
thralled kingdoms, sceptres swung? Should I be warm
and take you and kiss you everywhere? I am torn
on this cold evening’s nerves. The whistling
universe, cluttered by insubstantial things, is thieving
as hedges and whortles darken everywhere.
I am done with making myself a tithe for tithes!
But you? Why, you are bitter and cruel, my lady without care,
to leave me here, prattling to unresponsive air!
(from “”Love” Poems For Kathy / Green. Laced. Leaves”)
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