The Advent of My Becoming

the advent, dear friend, of my becoming/breaks the pencil, tears the page, that dump sludge/where words collide. don, i am doubled in/doubt over your narrative, dribbled in/iambics, pentametered in ruby grain./have you stopped talk of mud and rain only/now when forces outside scratch borders run/closer than powerful, harder than near?

most honest friend, you live an honest life/while i pity troubles self-caused, ruins/plagued plays, for what underlay memory/pervades my english ... though incompletely./catholic all sisters become, by which i/mean universal, that special art of/total being; i know you know my meaning, and in baptized/certainty i pray this letter back across/the border into that safe, but double/hand of your better friend, whom shelters you from/wind as i cannot, nursed by callous castle ...

.h.

p.s. my shrink suggested this versical cure/ it helps, truly, albeit impure.