Estrangement

The price of my silence –

of my not pursuing this matter,

of my not proceeding further

with the pile of dirt and dust

and ash, with the cache of

pain, with the burning

rain, with the contami-

nation-

ed states of

careless whispered

falsehoods drawn, via untrusting

you too, and the you too and

yous who now will

never manage to re-

gain my

er[r]s-

twhile admi-

ration, sincerest and

be-

loved …

… and bowled over (for

in Dublin it was

so, and oh it was

so) …

… those desires

to spend

the rest of my life and

the rest of my intelligence and

the rest of my kindly being

and seeing and doing

(and with you

too – at least

then as was; at least

then I thought) –

is only what you

must have predicted all this

weird time ago: a slow

but unavoidable

and total estrangement which

must overwhelm me

uttering-

ly

from brother and brother and

father and mother and cousins

galore, and second cousin in

part-

i-

[o]cular,

as you eyed me up for ever

so long with your unreasonable

and unsharing hierarchy

of disdain.

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