Like a tramp choir crying,
like a coat made out of lead,
ink spilled in water, a bird
beating about the cruel wires of a cage . . .
Wesley Moore “What Guilt Feels Like”
O wolves of memory! Immensements!
Philip Larkin, “Sad Steps
Yes, some memories should be locked away
In impenetrable safety deposit boxes,
The keys thrown away,
Those faux paus of yore, poxes
That that have pitted your past.
Oh my God, how could you have been so obnoxious?
Better yet, let’s wrap those indiscretions in x-ray aprons and cast
Them into oblivion’s untroubled ocean,
Chanting like defrocked priests, “What is done is done, what is past is past is past.”