YouLoveMe

Fun should not be subject to censure, Bourbon Street is right, let the good times roll, Into each life should come an adventure, Life with escapades is a life lived whole. The point is to go there and back again, Adventure is the point and so is home, The Shire's as important as Shelob's den, It's as good to lounge as it is to roam. I imagine one of you on a quest  Filled with many orcs and artill'ry flak, Upon it depends the fate of the West, When it's over you say, "Colin, I'm backi." You'll have your own Shire and your Rivendell, I'm confident you will do good and well.  

Sam Moyn--it's fine to take my vote away! Why?  I don't give a fig about p(doom), I'm old now, I could pop off any day, My life's been good, it's running out of room. Making my death worthy is my great job, I'm go'ing to a land from which none return, Will death serve wide, make me run for a lob? Deal gently with me, make me feel the burn? My p(doom) is one, it's not deputable,  It's the fabric of my late-life journey, Will my end be louche or reputable? Will I fin'ly let go of the tourney? I choose not to vote--I'm done ruling you! My old man's work is important to do.

The night before I left I spoke with Fanny, I told her I was sad I was leaving her to fight, She told me she wanted to be at my side. That it would be holy for us to die together to make men free, I said I would do my best to live, That my love for her would never die. At Ball's Bluff fortune cast her die, A spent shot struck me on the fanny, Battle smoke rose like a gray wraith, curling, live, I ran away and toward the middle of the fight, We were retreating from Virginia to the land of the free, I felt no animus for the Rebs on the other side. III As I ran a Minie ball pierced my chest on the near right side, I said, "I'm a gone coon, I'm gonna die, God of this damn pain I wanna be free." I closed my eyes and thought of Fanny, I disbelieved in my belief in the fight, In reason, in morals, in the will to live. IV My father the doctor knew it could be better not to live, I had laudanum hidden in a vial in a pocket by my side, With it I could peacefully die, Think ...

Sex is like law--no to formalism! Likewise to moralistic reproval, To Swift'ian Big End--Little End schism, To fights for red light district removal. Hopeless cads coexist with hopeless dads, I happen to be one of the latter, I saw her first when we were not yet grads, We are she are me are all that matter. Darwin measures us by fecundity, I am Genghis Khan, verbal division, You might say that we lack profundity, But we reproduce!  Bah to derision! Sex and Reason was not a Pauline work, It was a lark, a part-time scholar's perk. One morning 

Did I believe in the EAL creed? Yes.  But my loyalty was divided, To Yeats and Eliot I gave greater heed     than to models with feelings elided. I was no Mr. Brooks.  Sanctuary       was not my deepest passion, I rooted               in the ground, I flew to no high aerie,                      No Keats I, in me no genius fruited. Was John Nash as great a talent as Keats? Perhaps, and his fate was just as tragic, I revere them both and envy their feats,  For me art possesses greater magic. I am third said a Chicago player, Yes. Art, math, me in a lower layer.

EAL was my conversion story, I who was Saul was born again as Paul, Econ's logic underlay law's glory, I would preach to Jew, to Gentile, to all. I wrote the book in a red hot fever, A rational one, I hasten to add, I was a renegade eager beaver, Opening channels was good, dams were bad.   On and on I wrote, on and on I gnawed. Freedom to compete was the point of law, The mandates of the liberal state were flawed, Late 60s craziness stuck in my craw. Paul was sincere, we may assume.  Was I? Was my faith always partial, mixed, and wry?