Reinhardt Sobye

Always it descends Lazarus’s cast iron shadow

No matter the shells, I in the meantime gather,

I find that each morning I rise neatly scooped

A well that mourns until it ceases to possess

The essence of its former relevance

I am always unhappy with my selves

All 33 of them, a new one for every year

And all of them vainly simultaneous


Poverty recognizes the exceptions

Those queer moments

When the sun triumphs but these

Are not the moments that define

If I am not wicked while I suffer

Then perhaps there is hope

Perhaps there is even free will


All around me wings hiss

Dirty feet shrieking in distress

Because they cannot leave

Cannot leave and I too am here

Though I never asked to be

And have at times pleaded otherwise


As you know I am dog-watching the plan is to go to the country and stay for a few days because I think it would just be nicer for her then being in this little apartment. Supposedly we’ll have internet there but if I should disappear for a few days you know why.