OK.
I'll finish with this poem.
It's the last poem in the book of mine
that's supposed to be out any day now.
Was supposed to be here for these days,
but supply chain issues.
Actually I think that's what's the problem.
There's a supply chain problem that's tanking printing.
Which is why Jay and I are both delayed.
But this is the last poem in the book.
It is a 13 line sonnet.
And it's called, you might have noticed
that the titles I was reading all start with F,
this last poem is called F Word.
How foolish I for fretting after silver linings.
As if loss were not the principle of love.
From its first resist less quiver,
the heart keeps giving its stupid all.
That fleshy bankrupt.
To what beloved ever it sets itself upon.
You are dear, dear one, because of the expense in fear,
in wakefulness, in all the unrecoverable tenders that
account my faith.
I am in forfeiture, and nothing worth but what unthrift I
freely risk in you.
You, my Hesperides, unguarded gold orchard
at the danger edge of the world.
Thank you so much.
[APPLAUSE]