the jury
who are they? the members of the jury, I mean. William Carlos Williams, of course. he started this whole thing. or if he didn't, Robert Burns, Bobby Burns did - the poet who survived my high school introduction to poetry. (don't they do a fine job of making you hate poems and anyone who would write them?) Robert Graves, the man who made poetry seem it might be one coherent study. Keith Wilson, my mentor. Robert Creeley, Gary Snyder, Lawrence Ferlinghetti. oh, go ahead and admit it, Donald Hall. W.H. Auden too. both my wives, Sue Lynn and Lindy. two of the women I loved between wives, Savannah and Mikey. I'm forgetting someone, maybe two someones. oh yes, and the Goddess Herself, the heart of humanity and the darkness we all conspire to weave, the Muse, and possibly Death herself. so, if you're counting, you see this is not a civil jury, and no, they are not civil at all. but if you listen, you can hear their grudging approval or at least acceptance of the verses that escape from me out among you.
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