these fretted deeds....
which of these fretted deeds
that lend purpose to my soul
and vision to my heart
and in part and in whole
sustains and feeds
with priceless art
and fills my cluttered head
with tender sounds of glory
lending compass to my tread
and direction to my story
which, which fretted mark
will wither slowest on the posthumous stalk
and which will float in endless dark
and which will run, which walk, which talk
to those who are not yet here?
which others will move to weep
strangers born to some future sun
which of my present pain eke out their tear?
and which to lose, and which to keep
and who will take the pick
when all is literally said and done?
who and which and why and when
as carbon dust comes round again
and all that’s left is silent word and empty sound
who will choose those bits of me?
the bits that swam, or those that drowned?
with which small fretted deed
will those who are not yet, yet see
the soulless think of one now freed?
[the fretted deeds of rick…