I have wine in my hand and want wine.
I’m surprised by the want
To know better. I know
Worse and still regard pleasure
As fetching and necessary, though difficult
On certain disciplines. I have
Wine and uncertain principles
Only for fun fundamentals, for auditions
With another I might get to laugh with me
And still help sweep away the leftovers.
Who’s given up on forgiving forgiveness?
The little house peeling and stained.
Its roof holds against midnight thunderstorms.
Though I wince at the ceiling, the dead there
Who once loved me—I insist on it—
Still take us for granted
Since love without notice
Is most love.