Paul Sylvester Poet I do not know?

The Godhead

I see so constantly
the mother I wish not to be
a trainwreck citing meat too lean
malnourished and mis-wed by seventeen

I am the feet that swell and sore
under plum-bruised body and broken back
an assembly line of plastic doors
for plastic cars on plastic tracks

and I breathe the bright ladylike sea;
drown in her Riesling spindrift air
for I am dying words of ennui
so trite and unaware

an impromptu speech
to Father - I've planned for seven years
the words I thought would safely breach
my stiff and stilted fears

and name this ugly rabbit's foot
painted black by years of soot
I am the God of captious rancor
the necrotic rot you've been searching for

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