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Poem	When worst got things, how was you? Steady on? Wheedling, or shockt her & you have been bad to your friend, whom not you writing to. You have not listened. A pelican of lies you loosed: where are you? Down weeks of evenings of longing by hours, NOW, a stoned bell, you did somebody: others you hurt short: anyone ever did you do good? You licking your own old hurt, what? An evil kneel & adore. This is human. Hurl, God who found us in this, down something . . . We hear the more sin has increast, the more grace has been caused to abound.
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