“But is the
Earth as full as life was full, of them?”
These lines get to me, always have.
We stumble over what in death
Is uneven—“as life was full”
For my friend the handsome tree surgeon
Michael, poet of soulache and slapstick
Played poker faced, who saw double
And minded two voices that didn’t rhyme.
You can answer O’Hara’s question,
Yes, fuller. The depths we enter
Have room for everyone.
I.M. Michael Gizzi
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