Crying Fable

 Boo hoo hoo

your opal stone drop-row of one alphabet wasted on
desire, the pantomime death.
                                    Sky this.

Reach back as far as the human goes.
Grieving folly, of folly, man.

The crown coinage, salt chest, cuckoo's sorrow-flower pressed
under the dreaming head.

Stunt-growth this
emotion, eat daisy-root
instead of deceit.

The lachrymal rivers fish out of the heart,
copious flow, if it rains
on this day.
                                    Yes,
once upon a time.

Muddled pond to guppies, mind-swim, and then dry place
to Tyburn of old Paris, Greve, for
public executions.        Have we, what body's water, tear to tear?

As no witch would shed more than three tears,

you shall more than three million
make and weep, and wet.
And drink.

So I say. So should you.