RORRIM   I am of a mind to forget you. If only to show that, even in America, greater poetries exist. Though I may need to brandy my life with brilliant impiety. Naturally transpiring from young to youthly, back and forth, in ceaseless changing, retaining bright eyes wide to sovereign prayer too holy for belief. An aged mystery by which the poetic lies unattainable regardless of honest desire, parched temptation or favored wish. This is, as it was in youth, where what is felt is either naïve or a fearful response to sin, after which only the pen can see the answer through the rust.   Am I not eternal? Eternity is made to be washed away. Sharpening my teeth no longer, I smolder in bare confession, knowing my flesh to this Earth was not my last undoing.     - D. Garcia-Wahl