When I say a prayer
for the wicked I despair
and think, of course, of you
and how your late-night rants
make reservoirs of jaundice rise
as veins keep tightening
and helplessness
intensifies.
Forgiveness that I profess
just marks me as a liar
while dread, and darkness too,
make their cruel advance
without the clarity of lightning,
without the cleansing of the fire.
—A. M. Juster
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
The Critic as Artist
In this episode, Dana Gioia joins R. R. Reno on The Editor’s Desk to talk about his…
A Rudderless Odyssey
There is much to like about Christopher Nolan’s Odyssey. The movie is visually stunning; the set pieces,…
The Dot, The Dash, and Everything Between
In the latest installment of the ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein, Florence Hazrat joins…
