--- W I L L I A M   M .  G O T T L I E B

	raunch to reactionary

	Rows of raw words
raven your eyes, even
now in your sore sight seek for your 
plunder, their plunge 
taking you
away 
in a razzle of black
chains to a page’s rayed dungeon
where no one’s
letters can reach you but this raving’s
ravishment’s, ending
raveled loudly, suddenly, in a mating
raven’s 
call,
musical
in the black style
of raunch –
a fine line in love’s ravine, a poet alive
and croaking.