h.b.irwin

The resignation of

In Uncategorized on February 17, 2010 at 5:53 pm

Samson

All bounded up glory and reputation,

like a teenage boy in a still seat.

He’s mouthing at the tall ones.

Hands pressed out and groping,

you can see it in his eyes—

an irreducible wildness

that’s more funny animal

or long-haired flower child

than anything else

I’ve seen in a man

since Harry S. Truman

in 1945.

King Saul

Done with the ambiguity of an overdose, he fell over either way. A free act—a free pass. A single aspect in him that he could not tolerate, bearing up against the unanswerable logic of a nightmare. “If there was one thing he could’ve saved, it would’ve been      those       three       boys.”

He       moved,       I       moved,

something        was        finished.

J.

As a child,

I saw his ghost all around

bending and reaching over Greers Ferry Dam.

And as a child,

I had no idea that the Via Dolorosa

went right by my front door,

stretching from the overlook to Dallas,

humming the whole way, soft and sweet,

“Let this cup pass. Let this cup pass.”

Stephen

Stoned out

With Paul as a coat rack

On December 26

On the holiday

Prototype on a motorbike

Just one in the motorcade

Peter

The image is a hand

turned upside down

fingers splayed out

into the certain likeness

of Dunne’s love, so much refined

we know not what it is.

It is this image that fuels

the longest running Cadillac in history,

the one J. is dying in;

the one you are always

running after, asking,

“Quo vadis, Domine?”


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