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Published in poet's Page

By your slanderous tilt I am wounded
more grievously than any brilliant spear
which, ordained from the heaven's clarion oath,
might strike me down as Hippocrates, Persephone, Proteus falling to the sea
.
Your silent language is an insidious succor,
courting mischief with malice
and while I am starved by the wonder
of all these hideous silences
your monstrous mechanizations grind my heart to sand
and, so undone, I am fearful for it to beat again
.
With all this maligned devotion you strike at me
as it were I who cleft the devil's hoove
and yet, for all this loathing, it's breadth, depth, scope, and meter
I can only strike with compassion in turn
for fear is fickle in all it's jade devices
and ruled over by the perseverance of patience
and the insurmountable temperance of words