T[here] is beauty
In rout[e]ing –
As in paths and journeys
Not oaths and sundries –
For better times
And heads of good:
And so I imagine myself now
With women who love me for what I am.
I imagine it’s possible to be loved
With no agenda.
No diary of closing-in
On targeted man, as I have been.
When you know too much,
People fear you and see dark
Where no dark exists,
And by seeing this non-existent dark
They mark it out wrong, yet real.
Thus they fear you so bad,
And they make out you’re so mad,
And instead of [en]dearing your beautiful mind –
And [em]bodying your sex,
And holding you close in soft and kindly embrace –
Of such beauty, delighted,
Is lost to their anger:
The anger they have born[e] of guilt for
Against your grand person;
Against your grand soul;
Against your wondrous old;
Against your bought and foolish sold.
And so I now pursue in gentle expectation
The beauty I say
Of woman who may grey
And woman who may flay
And woman who may hey
Your life full and marked
By the dark of all the others – never