Measure

“Let not outrageous fortune.”
       – Shakespeare

Do we dare, paramour?  Idiots heehaw in the lee & pray
for white tempest of stones to lash us to the shore.
The current is strong.  How long does it take to cross
an ancient river?  Never, Christopher, is a monstrous joke.

To gauge calmth & courage by gravity of mortal voice
is to measure hell with stride of clammy fingers, eyes.
Each, No-man, would not suffice.  Keep from snare of error
Disregard the crossroads of gargoyles & classic terror.

Blitz the squall of waters only at the bark of ultimate run.
Brook no suck of troughs, revelation of swimmers drowned—
& thence, embarking on the swollen bank, the flames in lamp.

What always & must be is the consequential way, explicable fate.
Whoever, in the stinging broadsides, claims our bodies late
is the guardian of lock & key O tender of broken scale.

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