Wretch, from O.E. wrecca "wretch, stranger, exile," related to wreccan "to drive out, punish" (see wreak). Sense of "vile, despicable person" developed in O.E., reflecting the sorry state of the outcast, as presented in much of Anglo-Saxon verse (e.g. "The Wanderer"). A Ger. word for "misery" is Elend, from O.H.G. elilenti "sojourn in a foreign land, exile."

All lovers lord are wretched look them up

they swim the fountains of gardens to touch

to grasp the fountain to kiss the white dusk

I am such a one was such a one am

I    safe in the lawn is the campus safe

from ghosts    dearth of fear of ghosts    proper fear

the yo-yo of desire should still instill

like an hammered A: one never belongs

not even in one’s room    “one’s room” owning

not folding the note nor saving the note

not even in giving the note away

right here in my easy homeland I

am afraid and feel their eyes upon me

america   an amazing tiger

did you make it did you make me and it

the good cloth armor of the wretched self

that I was such a senseless man of wants

in a land in love with want in want of fear

afraid to be afraid

All lovers long for death    the heresy

of devotion is so great    am I safe

from fear of this    from fear of ghosts of acts

but am I safe lord from love’s destruction

the book of patriot acts:

First Act

golden beets they’re bringing the philosopher’s club

and backwards on his horse now the one who prates

Eimi ho eimi, who falls and says “it happened”

added later: “what happens to us” in athens

all shattered, in ad hoc stacks, thinking like pseudo-nicodemus

I am the seed in the blood semen in sanguis

top o’ the worl’ like so many athletes of piety

I am the remnant what history was on about

torn in pieces of wilde beastes, beheaded, stoned,

stifled, beaten to death with cudgels, ravished with zeal

they bring us beets bunched

from these busted porches the olive oil leaking

added later: “what happens to us”

“beloved, a night and a day in the deep”

until the iamb dazzle of the poplars

emptied out unto the acts uninherit

in here they bring us radishes like hands

on iron chargers or generation of vipers

 Second Act

Eulalia’s soul flies from her mouth as a dove

over offal    awful, awesome sandscapes

whereof let every reader use her judgment

hear her rattle like the grocery bag down the walk

and the popping sound of convictions ablaze

her bathing, this silvery retort

mercurially thus: because I lay still

and did not cry they took me in hand

all present admitting the presence of sweet air

as the scarecrow’s faded clothes

mushy apples thrown to keep the dogs away

or tea

to rinse or clap your hands in flame

or beat your chest for hymns

the Huguenots’ flee, maintain, or die

the screws of rhetoric that turn to iron

Third Act

stalks of daikon I lay out for rollers

to make portable my savory beliefs

they are the legs soon popped and locked

as it is not enough to commit inside

instead the bag of the mouth

must fill with it    with the good letter

so down goes dagon on top of me

my apostate beloved

I playne Piers which can not flatter

and kiss the canting doctor recanting

decanting or rather double canting

in the affirmative: it happened it happens to us

…

I am

found

that I am

…

The most faithful and the most wretched loves

are promised    in this homeland God’s country

urban tiger camo grassland and hill

orange camo highrise swollen faces

narrow faces everyone a preacher

in this garden I cannot see this shade

where the bride and groom keep pressing faces

trying to turn into sentiments as

wouldn’t mind dying but I got to go by myself

and into something with significance

even hand grenades of an angry god

anything to make the love affair stop

possessed of those effects for which I

for no one may serve more than one master

and all the collection agents like trees

in the wandering forests look alike

just shy of familiar and treacherous

so that I am lost lord in the open

may one be pardoned and retain th’ offence?

I’m conjured pure conspired against my rest

and couldn’t die here now in the water

with no way to mark my election not

to mark my rest and not to own my rest

the burly balladeer

                                    where he leads me

that I    from the top of the statue

should front    ressentiment   as those who laugh

in this life must cry in the next and so

I’m bound blind in this bind

Mother McCollum:

                        Gamblers stop your gamblin’

And stand by Jesus side

                        So when you see him coming

                        You’ll have some place to hide

                        You can’t hide in that judgment day   

                        Well, you better get ready now

2 scholar:

            tush, Christ did call the thiefe vpon the crosse

            then rest thee Faustus quiet in conceit.  Sleepe in his chaire.    

there is no shade that I can see    just ire

amazing, astounding, astonishing

as if the stone that’s on my tongue inside

the sacrificial syllabus    for love

were incandescent too good to look at

because terrible or what kind of love

obliging songs destroys the strings and vents

to summon them and clean cauterize them

bathing or washing for what profits it

in this outfit to cast off the whole world

if profit is our motive who can stand

against us with dice in our mouths and psalms

the false morning off our pale naked skins

with blush running there to defend the front

calling reinforcements from the middle

or barracks in our trunks to hold our ground

no grave gonna hold my body down

perform the gripe of love when I am lost

astonished prone and out of my cold clothes

courted by angels courted by devils

…

the hart-of-grease retains the offence, stares into the face of the ham-faced man, and bites the inside of his cheek        for the abolition of the offence I must behave myself have myself behaved I mean like the ice cube tray and it’s metal lever in the southern summer

and from there I crossed the woven waves, winter-sad, downcast for want of a hall   lacking how’s manifests the ship’s wager that hull of cargo would make it west my bond dissolved and the bath water slimy with cold cream and face paint

two handfuls of salt seeding the walking paths to prevent a costly slip (thinking didn’t they destroy all signs of life and salt the earth but weren’t they the salt of the earth the remnant as such that might have lost its flavor)     dealing means giving and taking away    O give me a glimpse of our embrace if

exile’s path awaits    not twisted gold

the masterless see the yellow waves before them, the sea-birds bathe, spread their feathers, frost and snow fall mingled with hail   that tender hymn’s author John Newton retained the offence, slave trader, and thought he’d felt the hand of god, and no longer plied the trade, and still possessed the effects

Never    too hot-hearted, nor too hasty of speech, nor too fearful, nor too glad, nor too greedy is the position of exile in the conditions of plenty because too is the buzz in this giant yard too too        comin’ ‘round the mountain

            wait (too much to ask of me as I stare into the woven waves the yellow waves)

how can you wait for grace how could you know that it was coming

when all the wealth of this world stands waste

and the buzz goes quiet

wait then    time to sleep when I’m dead    time to stop swimming when my mind goes calm

and the price of a sandwich isn’t a wolf shared one with Death;    a man sad of face hid in an earth-pit

and accountability isn’t phrased as a question

            ‘Where has the horse gone?’

Here in the lawn of too here friend is fleeting, here man is fleeting, here woman is fleeting—all this earthly habitation shall be emptied

                                                            Where for us all stability resides    there

is the comfortably fitting protective plastic    the perfect retainer

the nation with no territory of kindness and waiting and less than too

to the kindness of no territory and its own special language

with words and also non-words    so two or more creatures might

stand together in companionable silence

that would be sweet 

…

This is not a movie

This is not a video

This is a real live show

These metal pellets will go through my body I promise I’m going to push them back through my mouth, eyes or ears.  Which one do you wish?

Summoning years of physical and spiritual training as a fighting monk I will push them from my stomach into my head.  If need be, I will coax them through my veins with a chopstick.

Clink clink … like brass tears

These things are real.  If you take it home, they will bring good luck

and happiness.  We’ve got limited mementoes and limited time 

we’ve got to move    move to the other side of the river

on the other side of the sea    on the side of the side

where my mother is waiting    where my father is waiting

are you my mother and father in a hand

in the storm    on the perforated surface of the sea

are you amazing    are you amazed

…

I cannot stop speaking    stop crowing I

mudmouthed from a sip of water and dry

all over I’ve been lost and I am lost

but not so as I say NO    not that lost

and I’m blind right now but not saying NO

for a sonar

            Bascom Lamar Lundsford:

when paul prayed in prison them prison walls came down

                        the prison keeper shouted redeeming love I’ve found

                        dry bones in that valley got up and took a little walk

                        the deaf could hear and the dumb could talk

but could the philologists shut their goddamned mouths?

draying the lazerous holy men from breath to word to grave

for yessing into the pinch between these two

considerations Live I must not, Die I dare not

                                    and no light

                                                no wings  no pause

                        to “lift him up that’s all”

…

androphobia

gynephobia

parthenophobia

pedophobia

tyrannophobia

hagiophobia

hierophobia

papaphobia

anthropophobia

agoraphobia or demophobia

ochlophobia

harpaxphobia

xenophobia

Anglophobia

Francophobia or Gallophobia

Germanophobia or Teutonophobia

gringophobia

Japanophobia

Judeophobia

Negrophobia

Russophobia

Sinophobia

theophobia

Satanophobia

demonophobia

phasmosphobia

pneumatophobia

fear of the wrong fear   the wrong arsenal of fears