Lifted Mountains

Eloquence does not a poet make
Far standing parameters,
obsolete from token masters, given in
my the transcripts of communication
between God and a caved-in mother
to an untrusted son, always honest
with himself, always adroit
with his honesty with others,
never trusted to be on the cusp
of cordially disciplined intelligence

One could hardly remain a poet
under such pressure to defend
one’s own honor, one’s own matter
one’s own seizing of reason and joy
knowing what is true
and what is broadcast
as evening lies,
deteriorating like castles
made too long ago,
too withered to be useful,
and too imparted
to be a shell on the mountain
lifted above the population
that dares not look up