Ramparts (for James Wright)

Patients haunted me
last night. The gap-toothed client
and the scalded man
tore across my sod
on motorcycles of sleep.

Mossy castellations
of hot shame soaked
the feathered recess
of my comforter
till the sun
came up
and I
walked
to the post office
to pay the government
for all its trouble.

Let’s put it this way.
I don’t miss licking Forever stamps
one bit.

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