I am not a good man.
No need of a god to confess
that one to,
to offer penanceâ€”
passionâ€™s ashes and a spent bag of windâ€”
every godâ€™s treasure:
Another sorry old man
Or so the old ones say.
Not old like me, you understand,
but older-better, wiser, deader:
Eternal life, salvation, all of that.
Thatâ€™s not what Iâ€™m afterâ€”what comes after.
Iâ€™ve had a glimpse, caught a whiff.
That changes things, the small disaster.
Time is altered.
I have not been a good man.
The writing wasn’t going so well, so Ethel suggested the Beach.Â Smart dog.
The pause that refreshes.
As proud papa looks on: