October 16, 2012

poem 382 of a poem a day for 2012

fare lo sciocco e forsennato, fedele al dolore

I am the property of the family d’Este
dusted off from life to life
with destiny and might, you see
they out branch from their base
in the deep mountain roots
with pipers and papal vicars
and with what tools the loot

with what pockets reason and illiteracy
and the sown seed spread dread
that comes without faith
and without bread
without coin
or laboring stone
or body for amusement
or purpose
to a lord, a lady
or the manor itself

one grows slowly mad
finding what is fun
for one’s self
for the fool
while entertaining others
is enduring pain and sorrow
finding ways to borrow
time in cycles and seasons
in the haberdashery  
with pieces of his sanctity
sold for warm beans
and cold mead
and a quiet place
to bleed out

the many coats 
I wear 
are disarming
while resting a bit
before the story
is to be re-told
to the next court feast
needing this fool and his scroll
while they are spilling their wines
stabbing at flesh to fill their tines
I am back here
practicing my lines


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