I am always so sure
of those degenerate doubts
which I do not want
to accommodate—
so certain
that my longing
and despair
are a pair of grifters,
famous con artists, sticky-
haired bandits—
who must be run out
of this fragile frontier town.
And yet,
my desires,
my hopes, my convictions?
I know they, too,
must be holed-up here somewhere—
living in our midst,
opening small businesses,
slithering through church crowds—
and I am much less confident
what sort of men
they are.
