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stubble burning 129
That man is `all accident,'
Though, all things intersecting
In us.... As the night passed,
However well it went
In each particular,
Politics was protecting
And menacing all we were
To the last.
A friend dislikes the Day
Part of my poem. It
Is `crabbed,' he says. I say
The anger's deliberate;
Yet aimed at nothing clear
But what to be against:
All politics that claims
To be salvational.
You know the various names
It goes by left and right....
I have my politics,
Living here in the sticks --
Not looking for a fi ght
I won't inquire of yours,
Of mine will just observe
It never off ers cures
(Since cures in politics
Wreck what they're meant to fi x),
Is slow to pick its spots
For palliative changes
(Having kept well in mind