(No. 42)Waiting

Wait I on Him, or He on me?
Rescue I this work as Keats might have done by deleting Hyperion?
Retitling to “The Fall of Saturn”—
Or do I repeat the wait past the generation thought to limit the end?
I have marked my disgust with this world by the drowse of alcohol—
I now choose to abstain though the wait be unnumbed—
The answer must be from above—my own modest brainpower
Insufficient to best the philosophers, scientists, and writers—

So now, mr. poetchilde, how about you?
A wild-goose chase do you take us about?
Dear readers, oh no, our faith must remain—
Yahweh hath something to say.
One sonnet a month—no more—wakeable every hour each day—
T-minus six months and counting.


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