Poetry will suffice. There is nothing

more oddly cogent than a formal verse

(other than silence, which has more beauty).

When your friends have damned your iniquities

to hell, and turned their backs to you in turn,

poetry will suffice. There is nothing

like a villanelle to assuage pity

(or bare your rage, if that’s what you prefer,

other than silence). Which has more beauty

of the two: a dandy agonizing

over a dead word– or: a woman’s curves?

Poetry will suffice. There is nothing

in the known universe or the third ring

that has greater efficacy to burn

(other than silence, which has more beauty).

When loneliness makes the uneasy peace

a guilty man might steadily endure,

poetry will suffice. There is nothing,

other than silence, which has more beauty.