O Mighty Beyond the Chimney Yet Under the Bed - One Address To the Lord After Berryman's 'Eleven' Astutter
for Andrew
'I don't try to reconcile anything' said the poet at eighty,
'This is a damned strange world.' - John Berryman*
I beg (as did Berryman as did
also Job) Do not give up on me
drag me (gently) pull me (tug
tenderly) gather me (dew me
softly cover) do not delay
Shepherding (O Numberless One,
Creator of the Majestic Zero
beyond all counting, that I may
be beyond 'the Ninety and the Nine'**
so) woo me (though a cold bed I
am and make, though human hand
pen/paw at Thee O Mighty beyond
the chimney yet under the bed
yet (pillow me) pillow me plead I
'that my chaff might fly'*** and my
eyes dimned be turned toward what
glimmer remains of corners dark in
recessing mind, O Lord, would have
You take (mine) mind shake the
stiffness necked naked hairs numbered
over all the fading flesh of me
Now (love even me/sand-one-grain,
let Blood stain to Purity, what once
is rendered endures, that one moment,
may, where self-will wilts, (only)
You do what You Will to in me instill
Einfall****
You (spill then to me
in torrent, rinse, fling out drear
dark (say it Elizabethan) Sin
score yet that long longing for
You wrung: Look. Shake me out.
Drained (I am, for wanting that
You (might YOU) Force me far to
me Freshest Be
What hands I have cannot grasp
or reach (draw You in)
for now my tongue must serve
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poem by Warren Falcon
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