From his Errata,
In a room of shelved books
Dressed in winter argyle
A scholar descends through
Winds of high blue December ice, vain ice
And clear lake leaves on a sweater
Head full of drink and argybargy
*
Pig iron sleds stand around the black stanchions of
Ice; clouds around hoof and nostril
Plunging churches
*
Underneath, blood, red around these points–Cymryn versus
Vainglorious Anglo, Roman versus Breton,
Jute versus Viking–runs faster than milk,
While bodies of slit-throated, sacrificed peasants
Persevere in peat marshes,
Silver as death, bogged down to study
The chalk fire of white
Where looming orange cottages
Gutted
By daisy-cutters of war
Are a necropolis empty of sentinels.
*
The sun is summoned,
The re-apotheosis of Apollo
Who last went grazing among the drink of stars
Like learned men drinking at the trough of irrational books
*
His mouth,
Such a small wound from which to reemerge
In his chariot
Pulling winter behind him
His season of greatness once more finding its career
Born from a wastrel’s body
Like all elemental myth
*
(First posted May 24, 2007)
Beauty is Imperfection 
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