I am re-working the sequence, "There Is No Safety in Distance," into a chapbook collection of songs instead. Force-fitting the poems into a numbered sequence was a wrong idea, I think, since the sequence has little logical development. The poems may work better in a looser form, a kind of anthology in which each is complete by itself, though related in theme and imagery to others.
Using a method explained in the poem itself, I wrote a last poem for that collection.
Dies is a last word of my songs:
and headstone, colder, sea,
hoots, then dead, before very long,
and then the end of me.
The dizzy body calls, more wine,
the dimming soul, burn, blood.
Although in time they intertwine,
in time they stand, then stood.
In time they bark, and then they bite.
In time body and soul
fashion the other into bait,
fish in the gloryhole.
Cowards die many times before their death,
so death to Cowardice!
--except this coward feels his breath
quicken each time he dies.