Too much discomfort,
Ache in the belly,
To down anything
Solider than tea,
The weary trembled.
What did young Lowell,
Harvard-bred, handsome,
Tall, and well-to-do
Title his volume?
Lord Weary’s Castle.
That was years before
He decided poems
Would be stronger if
Made more personal,
Which worked for a while.
Lord Weary. Noble.
The condescending
Melancholic bowed
His great, weary head.
Nevermind the Lord.
Here there is only
The weary, the small
Disintegration
Of something weaker
And less personal.
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