My friend offered me wisdom about discipline
But I only half-heard
the way people---like me---do,
when we are distracted from the focus,
we are interested in so many other things aside
from the threat of the focus.

The color of our oxfords, the speed of our cars,
the weather, the financial report, robbery,
forging documents, the dog's hair, adultery,
picnics, lightning.




Discipline was the key to reopened doors , he said,
discipline was a portal to the cold glass of hope,
discipline was keeping the spine stacked one bone
upon the next corresponding bone.
discipline was steadying muscle, nerve & breath:
it is not parading with fire,
it is making a narrow entrance, unnanounced salvation.

For discipline to work, all that is necessary is:
assume the position. Fold hands.
Smile inwardly and wait for the image of something
to enter your heart and smile back.
There should be no gala, only contained celebration.

A quite conversation in the alley behind the building.
Because sometimes, upon further inspection,
disciplined work does not pass the eye of the judges.


Where does self-punishment fall within the gambit?
Other than consequences for poor choices,
waking up in the rain, underneath a capsized tent,
or the one thousand mornings I had to look at
myself over in the mirror, and wonder who looked back
Or is it more: shouting at the seagulls again,
their irreverence at our gravity, our being land-locked.

The questions come, they warm, they soothe, they adhere.

But they also bond to the many spirits which gather:

such as wormwood, Aziel, the bunch whom Milton met,

Mammon, Baal, hanging around the door waiting for your exit.