For the Time Being
And then for years
It was all he could do
To drink and read Machado.
While poems got drunk
Before breakfast,
And she lay unkissed,
Dom Antonio gave blood
From both of his wrists,
Then closed his bag,
Bowed with care,
And left him injected
With a certain alertness
Which for the time being
Kept him aware.
Copyright © Paul Bussan | Year Posted 2005
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