Brad Leithauser

...which means, of course,

you're run out of the pack

and in perpetual flight.


To be blessed,

purred the cat,

is to have that touch

of yourself in yourself

that others will dimly

tolerate if they, and why 

should they?--notice.


To be blissed-

out, said the rat,

is to lie unnoticed

by anyone

on a feast of carrion

and throwaways.


to be blasted,

said the man

in the tavern with

the dog on the hearth,

the cat in the chair,

the rat scurrying somewhere, somewhere, 


is to feel a blessing

that does not move inward,

and may not move outward,

but stays where it does,

with the companions of

the night.  Tonight.  Here. 



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