New Year, 1972

Another one gone. I sit here, the gloom
Of New York, the same as the gloom
Of any book signing, poetry reading,
Lively eyed teenagers, the playful
Urgings of youth set against
The doleful resignation of middle age.
Temptation was never this bad
When I was unread, unpublished,
A mere dreg of the poetry circles.
Now there is honour in my passing,
And I sanctify the flesh I touch
Or taste, as if to mark it with a tattoo
To say that Grayson Ellis was here,
Drunk on the eve of the year, 1972

Grayson Ellis, 1973
Reprinted, with permission, from ‘Deflation’