Heaven's
sake, I would like
to have said
to my old
friend the raven,
before he took off
for the upper
peninsula—
these forehead demarcations
are growing
both
keener—and somehow
ever
ghostlier, don't
you think? Its as if
the farther apart
a hard-hammered wish seems
to have been beaten
from its antecedent,
the finer and neater
are the filaments needed
to connect them,
and that's all;
until
the distance
between—
the ridiculous despair
which haunts
a dislocated
brain such as
this one—and its
favorite
quiet spot
at the neighborhood
coffee shop
is never
very great.
