Caricature of a Poet

These men seem knowing of my love affair
As if some rite of passage or diversion,
In your plaid shirt’s ragged pocket I will sit, Charles,
I hope I won’t be too much of a burden.
The men they look nostalgically at me,
Like I’m a conduit for some lost youth,
And in these awkward moments I’m reminded;
Aged men have largely given up on truth.
I’m learning hard the pain that comes with principle,
I’m digging in the dirt of my dissent,
Destined not to find a single sliver
Of love or meaning; nothing of the critical,
But I’ll quarry in my soul ‘til I am spent,
In pursuit of knowing you I’ll dredge the river.