There's many child
Wandering yet in me who should have
Left his tenure long ago:
Advisors to my thirty years,
Infant pirates bent on seizure
To this aging prize, in me faintly
I hear the boy
Who cried when kittens died.
drowning in the obliterative tides
And settled now, artifact
Of introspective yen only
And wasting like reptilian
Junk of dinosaurs
In some quiet, sealed up pit.
A tomb for most, I am
For one the house of board and plenty.
Man of childs, then
Recall the sleepless boy of midnights,
Resourceful in the penny wealth
Of early sex, attentive to the beaten neighbor lady's
Vile lament, who, husbanding desire then
Wrenched and answer when
Another lad heard angels in his sleep instead.