miserere ii

by Donald Kuspit

words never reach
                         far enough,
wonder forgotten
                        along the way,
           their meaninglessness.
left with silence,
                          i mold memory
into regret,
                the last folly
of feeling,
               spoiling the senses,
their indecency
                   my only innocence.
i long for crutches
                           to limp
to the gods,
                ask forgivenness
from the unforgiving,
from merciless fate,
                            a blessing
from those more accustomed
                                      to curse.