Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Here's Breath For You - Upon Purchase & Buyer's Remorse - A Letter Poem To A Literature Professor</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Dear Low, </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Not to worry. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I am the man most pursued in last night's dream.<br>That emaciated thing at my back keeps tracking me.<br>I remain just out of reach. Classic. Even there, <br>as here, I am escaping something, a life time of <br>practice in this 'Kingdom of the Canker'.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">It was no banker who followed me last night<br>but a starved lacklove rejected by 'Canker' and, well, <br>by me. Who'd want that part, all start and no finish? <br>Replenishment has often enough meant hiding out<br>and a demand that it keep at least 5 arm lengths away.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I will try, I tell it, to look at it but I find its presence<br>most disturbing, its handful of leaves continually <br>proffered leaves me in a quandary. What do they <br>mean, this offering, though my father was a lumberjack? <br>Perhaps this is a track of sorts to follow for an end <br>to the mystery. I am stumped.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Again, not to worry.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">After a life time (now almost 60 years) of identity crises, <br>which is a low grade fever in the personality, such is poetry. <br>I am very weary of it as I now move into yet another identity, <br>OLD MAN. And who gives a damn in that new <br>'Kingdom of the Cracked & Crank'? Invisibility awaits, or worse, <br>pee pants. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Do I become that thing which follows me in my sleep, <br>leprously white, pale wanderer of the empty pockets, <br>eyes dark and full of something deeply known? <br>I am not yet ready to know such things though the<br>dream indicates that I am for it is very near. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">How can I expect the culture to pretend to be interested, <br>it having pushed the thing even farther away than I ever <br>could? And since this has turned too goddamned <br>confessional I do confess that I am beginning to lose <br>heart for it, all this pushing, this running away, which is <br>perhaps good news to the very few who know me truly. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Rather, </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I sit on the cultural dunce stool in my corner of the room <br>reading, reading, tracing, tracing the chase of 'logos' <br>through time. No rhyme or reason can I make with my <br>earnest forefinger. Still malingering shadows of what is <br>in those dark eyes just over there dim my creased page. <br>I pull at curtains to close out tighter whatever daylight those <br>eyes may bring to my knowing. I am such a monk. <br>I live hard unto myself, sacrifice daily goats on the altar<br>to the blood thirsty deity in me and who dwells just outside my door. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Grace, yet, daily unfolds, usually in the coffee cup, first sip, <br>and morning prayer without too much buyer's remorse which, <br>I am convinced, is what that first squall of the just born infant <br>is about...'So much for corporeality...desiring only the womb.<br>I could not read the fine print of the contract writ small in <br>capillaries, that upon me there will be a vice, a clutch of <br>alien air, a fall into too much light and clouds of Mercurochrome.<br>I regret me I regret me I regret me...'</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">One adjusts. Continually. The persona is adaptation <br>appearing to be solid but sleep reveals the neutrality <br>of the animal. Dreams tell us otherwise when we remember <br>them as it takes an ego to witness, to remember. <br>They reveal that we are caught up into something <br>so much greater than flush and stir. It's a wonder we make <br>do as much as we do and still call ourselves by name, <br>our family a species of animal, 'homo sapiens'. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I regret self pity. I'd reject it if I could<br>but it adheres, last resort of old coots born <br>honestly into it no matter the copious Mercurochrome baths, <br>the smelling salts obviating the needed nipple. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">What is all this singing bathed in tears born of tremendous desire <br>and fear? Whose arms would hold fast and safe, embracement <br>against the brace of all us we fallen stars who do burn out brightly <br>or, more like me, privately in quarters counting days as if each is <br>the last until that dread thing finally comes in, after a life time of <br>daily threats and close escapes, with hopeful relief? Hopefully <br>there will be no buyer's remorse for purchase of Death. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">''Here, '' I'll try to say 'ponst that day', <br>(one must become Shakespearean in such company, <br>last payment on the installment plan) , </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">''Here's breath for you. I tried to use it well.''</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Today the Market reports a run on Mercurochrome.<br>Birth goes on. I am for rebirth, a dirth of days<br>makes me suddenly Hindu, foregoing gurus and<br>bindu point. I've made my own here.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Selah.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Still, methinks I'll have your ear for a little while longer, <br>a handful of leaves only for my thanks, one foot well <br>into 'Cracked and Crank', the drunk tank a memory <br>worn out. Doubt is my companion.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Love, too. No remorse there. <br>Buys me time, aftershave and <br>loads underwear for the trickles ahead. <br>Thank the gods for all that. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Oh. And one last good cigar.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535592" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">W.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Warren+Falcon">Warren Falcon</a></strong></div>