Ecology
The
stars at night are big and bright. I wouldn’t open that in here. Save yourself.
Montaigne says you must give yourself to others, not only to yourself. But in “My Life to Live” the distinction
between “lend” and “give” is eliminated. I don’t get it. How does that
privilege other over self? You need a key keeper to get into your house. Then
the bomb goes off. Throw everything away after using it once.
Betty:
Is it good luck or bad luck when a black cat crosses your path?
Janitor:
That all depends on what happens afterwards.
Nearsensical
Now
it can be told. The sky touches the forehead. Well, almost. Who said all is
‘partly’? What about death? I’m open to
it, but just a crack. Then I was rounded off. I remember now, it was my old art
teacher, Mr. Jensen. Stars fell to earth. Things land where they’re meant to
land. Never heard of you. You can sleep on the couch. It’s freezing in here.
One way to get warm would be to set yourself on fire. Or put on your
woolies.
King Rene’s Chimney
I
found an old issue of Antaeus on the sidewalk and read Peter Handke’s story,
“The Lovers,” translated by Ralph Manheim. It confused me that both the man and
the woman in the story are referred to as “he” or “him.” There are certain
extrospective situations that put me in direct cognitive contact with people’s
minds and states. Still it’s a crap shoot. How do I know they’re not just my
own? Walking around in the castle or outside, nothing is sure. But cuddle up a
little closer. We could be the lovers, or at least on speaking terms.
On the Air
I
wrote a song for my cat. Would you like to hear it? No? There’s no way anyone’s
going to live up to that. There’s no truth to it, either. Oh, no—it’s the TRUTH
SQUAD. Feets do yr stuff. Yes, the no’s have it. Anyway, you went to the
typewriter, right? When’s Qwerty coming? Oh, he’ll be along right after Ma
Perkins. No, I’d say death is a good deal, there’s no hindsight. A good deal of
time anyway. I mean look at brave Hector, he’s been dead awhile. No you look at
him. I need my head examined. By Young Doctor Malone. And if I wear these
Kleenex boxes on my feet, you promise to keep it on the QT? And don’t stay too
long in paradise. And turn off that fucking radio!
Remembrance of Things Lapsed
While
in Hong Kong I accepted gifts of a Patek Philippe watch and custom suits at
Sam’s Tailor and Modestos. I came to meetings with Poland Spring water bottles
filled with vodka. I wore clerical garb to the opera. I’m sorry for the pain I
caused. I’m not sure how much time is left but I never feel anxious. There are
so many distractions—art and literature, music, cards, Anna, you, Gayfryd, the
cats, collections and recollections. Look at this miniature. Thinking back to
Fall 1967, when I took over Reliance Insurance and gave my first reading at the
Poetry Project—all gone now. And just what was wrong with “all its dizzy
raptures”? Eh? Tell me that. But keep trying. Look at Ashbery over there. He
gives it all he’s got.
