450. DESCRIPTION

DESCRIPTION:
(Strictly Mendicant)
He was riding his horse across
the plain and thinking perhaps of
the wind. In a stately cadence of pomp,
something akin to pride itself, a majesty
performed in his place : one thing past
another, it wasn't so much as motion.
And just at that moment I saw, stretched
across the sky, the swiftly steady winging
of a hawk, making its way across that selfsame
sky the horse and rider shared. Of this to make
then, what was I? Two distinct forms in a
somehow steady race : horse and rider as one,
with the hawk its own arc to trace.

449. SAVONAROLA WAS EASY

SAVONAROLA WAS EASY
'Burn this courthouse down' - a very decidedly
simple-minded puritan of haste and want (I heard)
say that, stalling for time. It was a way back ago
in the terrible old west : 1868, I think. They'd
just buried some lunkhead in his boots
(by mistake) and the newly-cut pine box
was not fitting him too well. As I
remember, he simply sat bolt up
and suddenly said
'What the Hell?'

448. GARGANTUA

GARGANTUA
Somehow the female name
just has to do - a feminine
ending for a curious monster.
The sort of thing (most likely)
we would blame the Orient for.
Gargantua : a form of blazing
softness tearing cities down...
or is that the wrong monster?
Leaving trailings in its wake?
Yes; this is life, but none the
worse for wear. None the
worse for wear.

447. WHAT THE NEWSGIRL DROVE

WHAT THE NEWSGIRL DROVE
(leather and coffee and gold)
'True judicial mourning now covers
the waxwood flooring, as even the
Magistrate's robe does shine.'
I was picking up identities
like dollar bills...
The manual said 'Rejection' but I
could never just accept that and
walk away. Instead, like some
dated Elvis-inspired belt buckle
of gold, I remained in place and
thought about staying.
'It's easy, you know, if the future
is forever - that which leads, that
which stretches out ahead of us.'
'But what changes?' I asked in reply,
'those things we never know until they
happen?' The newsgirl drove by in
a white cabriolet. Her name was Johanna
Frederici, and she came from another
land; clearly a place of leather and
coffee and gold. Leather and
coffee and gold.

446. MAN BURNED AT THE HEELS

MAN BURNED AT THE HEELS
(a biography of the Soul)
Into this rolling town raved the
circle of want. The Carnival
called itself Barker's. A
really lame name for
17 men and some
rides on wheels.
-
One night, late, after
hours, they took down
the flags and banners. No
attractions were left, 'cept
for one : 'Man Burned
At the Heels.'

445. A MASKED DUO

A MASKED DUO
(at Liege, 1542)
The indeterminate meanderings of Time and all
his fellows have brought this moment to be :
a solicitude of need and presence, the
topsy-turvied source of envy and want.
It is only for the breath of black-heeled
gardeners that Nature's force keeps going.
That strange duo - Time and Nature -
break many bones and bring many
prideful movers down. Backwards
breaks the neck which stretches.
-
Alchemy it is - weeding this world's
garden with both wild hands - to change
matter and essence into another form
entire : dilated glimpses into dark powers.
All things deep and all things bold fall beneath
the powers of these powerful souls.
Changing Darkness into Light
is only the most simple
of magical tricks.

444. BESTED

BESTED
I've been bested in combat by swords
dripped in blood. I've been shattered by
blocks made of steel. Between two poles,
tethered, I've been stretched and tortured
until I caved. No hands on broken arms
could undo that. But - at the most extreme -
I've fought back tears and, screaming,
tried to break those bonds. At times,
freed like a bird set loose, I soared
with moments of grandeur and
fame. Until sunset, until morning,
until the very next turn of
events caught me looking.
No matter, the texture
of my experiences
always stayed
the same.

443. ESCOBAR PAVLOVA

ESCOBAR PAVLOVA
'I never intended such an immersion into
things to overtake myself as it did.' Nearby,
two fellows were trimming a tree. Miraculous
turnover : fascination into rumination into
glee. The sunlight was righting itself
through the leaves of that tree.
-
Had I a diamond, I'd have
placed it around your neck.
On a fine golden chain,
no less.

442. MARVELOUS FRAGMENT

MARVELOUS FRAGMENT
All at once.
Over the top : relieved to be.
Spotlight or something.
Backlit endeavors, looked at
in another language : a means now
entirely appropriate for the end intended.
Horse. Whinny. Cakewalk. Talk.

441. ATMOSPHERE AND DREAD

ATMOSPHERE AND DREAD
That thing dangling - up there -
that's a knife; pointed straight down
above my head, it hangs from a really
frayed string. Sometimes I worry about
every little thing. Not that I'm fearing the
worst or the next, it's just that I realize
I might be carrying the hex. Maybe it'll
get me by the end of the day.

440. BOUNCING LIKE A PAUPER

BOUNCING LIKE A PAUPER
There is no room for commitment,
and no hazard to the risk. Simply
put, I have nothing. No arabesque of
clear-thought or folly, no frivolous
fuss of distraction - neither of them
attract me. Subdued, average and - yes-
lonesome still, I stand around waiting
to oblige some debt coming due.
-
So kow-tow Hop Sing.
Stoop and bow, giving
reverence to your onerous
Master. He shreds the
nickel you dine upon.

439. CHIAROSCURO

CHIAROSCURO
White black, black white;
shades of meaning between
things everywhere. The
intended moment of shading -
dark and light together - makes
manifest a most startling propensity
for co-existence. Living together.
Separate but equal. On hand,
but in ignorance of each other.
What matters then if the
blenders never blend? How
many see the difference
between the black and
the white, the dark
and the light?

438. TERRI BENEDETTO

TERRI BENEDETTO
(She told me I should live forever)
Some man I have not seen in weeks
is plowing his steady field, trailing his
luggage of sound. It is but a heartfelt
tumble from slopfest to ground, threading
those things in the pigsty through their
needle of animal wants. Were I to
gaily amble, a crowd would rise to
the surface - one hundred faces on a
dewy, smoked glass - yet no one I'd
want to see nor any with a purpose.
This slipcase of manner and want of art
and all its circumference is now somehow
too scant to hold in the broad field
my mind would encompass.

437. PLEIN-AIR AT PRINCETON

PLEIN-AIR AT PRINCETON
Those fellows were watching the sloop Regatta,
scullery-maidens or ladies in waiting. Girls hovered
like wispy angels - sheer blouses and faces to match.
Long-eyed maidens, blue, like the eggs of a robin.
An outside festive air reflexive of open sky:
someone from the far north, another from the Orient.
We placed our marbles on the concrete slab - all
of them and everything. A long-truck-trailer was
loading up the boats. Small talk was
the order of the day.

436. RACECAR ITALICS PENDULUM

RACECAR ITALICS PENDULUM
Swoosh! So fast it seems like a Devil - this
bat out of Hell driving along the bevel,
the place where the roadway bends, the
end-cap of illustrious living. Decode
me, madman! Make me angry all
over again. I can't get over
your sweater.
-
There's a frolicsome living to be
made, a tendency for something
to happen. Nothing matters when
it occurs - you, the fearsome keys,
the rattling throttle of some new
fuel-injected invective. A
well-placed 'Fuck You!',
waved to the crowd.

435. LEFT AT THE GATE

LEFT AT THE GATE
You can always hold me later;
some marvelous penitentiary like
your jewelled mind should bedazzle.
All at once, it is August again - you
know how that goes - and we are already
making plans for next year. The walrus runs
to the right, the small change jangles in my
overstuffed pockets. 'You always have
something to say', you say.
-
Hands at the gate distort the memory of
those lilies which grew by the post. Old
wood, from eighty years back, still managing
to hang on - and each time you slammed the
gate its hinges rattled and shook the post.
I remember that well.
-
My grandmother came by, once, with
a bowlful of flower petals. 'Eat them slowly',
she said, 'just as we did when we were little
children. They're quite good.' I remember
remarking, 'but grandma, they
taste just like ivory.'

434. I TAKE PAUSE

I TAKE PAUSE
No leather locket.
Something else around your neck.
Hangman spells NOOSE like
it was up for grabs.
-
Put the glass fragments back -
perfect pieces only AFTER
they're broken.

433. AT THE SALMAGUNDI CLUB

AT THE SALMAGUNDI CLUB
Thursday comes as nothing,
running forth its fever like some froth
from off a beer. We sit, piled one atop
the other, as if the simple fact of
having no room meant we were
crowded for good purpose.
Words, lingering like some
lazy spider watching its web from
the center, bounce around from wall
to wall: a mouth-to-mouth resuscitation
of eventful proportions. If there had
ever been reason to dally, this most
certainly was it. Geography. Travel.
History. Tales of the rivers and graves.
Tales of the rivers and graves.

432. SOMEONE TOTALLY AGREEABLE

SOMEONE TOTALLY

AGREEABLE
A human's sense of balance:
keep straight you fool upon
this spinning planet and
hazard not a guess
from point to point.
-
'If it's not the way you like it,
just a wait a moment or two
until it gets worse. That'll
solve your trumpet woes.'
-
No solvent border, and
nothing along the way :
a human's sense of touch
can break a heart. In it's
grip all men are already
gone. A human's sense
of balance - on the other
hand - keeps one, yes,
alive upon a spinning planet.

431. AT THIS TIME

AT THIS TIME
The windfall of evening douses the air;
scuttled like sky with a star, the owl overhead
stares simply back; down towards the dirtied
earth. Both above it yet upon it, this
comforting creature is teaching restraint:
A somehow restraint, a motive of things,
a thump where it is usually soundless.
-
I catch the evening star blinking.
From far, far above me it appears
to be shining down - from a place
where there is neither up nor down.
How owl-like I think that star must be.

430. I MAYBE LOST THE CAROM I NEVER WANTED TO HAVE

I MAYBE LOST THE CAROM
I NEVER WANTED TO HAVE
Your arms were extended to me.
I grasped them back. I felt the pulse
of your steady heart beating. Outside -
somewhere in the misty midnight air -
they'd gathered for a candlelit vigil.
-
People by the ton stood their ground
(let's put it that way for effect). In rows
of two or three they chanted or sang,
something I couldn't understand. A
police whistle wailed, the distant train
whistled, and the last thing to be heard
was some man shouting odd commands.
-
Nothing went well, but nothing went down.
The newspapers - though they tried - even
they were unable to come up with a story.
We egged them on by making up lies.
They hung on our every word.

429. THE ROOF IS COMING DOWN

THE ROOF IS
COMING DOWN
(Soundproof)
Hanging too high, the midstream winces,
calling out home for what is behind.
Someone pacing, like a chivalric hero
below, lifts the crest of one King or
another. Battlements met are battlements
set; on this field it hardly matters.
The blood is just now leaving
your eyes.

428. I SEE BONES

I SEE BONES
I see bones of long ago -
all unchanging yet serving
the means all the same. A
rigid primogeniture of use and
and purpose : as if the 'arms'
really did 'make the man.'
Anyway, I see nothing of the
senseless new. I see bones.
-
She is standing sweetly;
composed of those bones
underneath - though you'd
never know it from looking or
seeing her. The otherwise soft
fabric of all of her life covers
all that - the loves and the lines,
the soft coating of flesh and hair.
Things of no account, really.
-
That passing moment of the
human chime covers all
that skeletal grime.

427. IRRATIONAL SPIRITS

IRRATIONAL SPIRITS
Out of mark, out of time, out
of place. The locus of the stage
is planted and steady - and my
feet-marks are measured by tape.
Places measured; where I should stand.
This scene, that scene. Where to be,
and where to move.
-
The black man, I am noticing,
Willy - my friend - is talking and
laughing loudly, in this great old
morning sun, in the most animated
fashion I have ever seen. All Amos
and Andy and Scatman Crothers combined.
Stepin' Fetchit got nothing on him!
-
Reading Hart Crane can sometimes seem
like nothing more than a gay dream. A
mistaken nomenclature of some bad science.
Every blade of grass within him, it seems,
wants to go back to Whitman - 'Crossing
Brooklyn Ferry' and all that. That's not a mark
I'd care to make - really - for myself.
After all, the gate to High Parnassus
was closed long, long ago.

426. WHAT WILL WE SAY TODAY?

WHAT WILL WE
SAY TODAY?
"What? Where is it moving?
What is moving? The current?
Nothing is actually moving, though
the current is moving through
the wires." Erotic music, at the
Leeds Conference; sponsored, oddly
enough by the F.B.I. "Old trees,
and housekeeping. Did you know
the girl who named Pluto is dead?"

425. ADAGE 24

ADAGE 24
He thinks women nurture
because they have a womb -
men nurture too,
and straight to the tomb.
It is a world of gadgets,
of gearwheels and tools,
and we are left with a crowd
made mostly of fools.

424. THE GATEKEEPERS OF CONTENT

THE GATEKEEPERS

OF CONTENT
'Brothers and Attached'
Sometimes I get tired of the aggressive spirit -
the flagpole flying a banner stretched to desperation
with the wind, the little mill town too proud of itself
and its one horse and carriage endlessly circling its
touristy streets. I think, in fact, mostly of nothing but
polar opposites : the places I'd like to NEVER be, the
tired scenes I've missed, the trivial art-show on those
paper-thin streets. Just today, cashing a check in
this paltry small town, the teller asked me 'How would
you like your cash?' I usually answer 'tens will be fine',
but today I said 'in an endless stream, thank you.'
She smiled at me, at first quizzically, then with
a broad and very contagious grin.

423. THE FORESTER PAYMENT

THE FORESTER PAYMENT
I was made by seeds in the land amidst
patches of mud tended by rain. There was
nothing I could do to stop growth once
it had started.
-
I wandered the land forty years :
biblical-time, in its way, is reflected
in units of space. For instance, the
Terebinth of Mamre, where Abram
pitched his tent so as to meet his
metaphorical God, is now a gun shop
and a shopping mall 40 stores strong.
And all the oaks are gone.
-
And all the oaks are gone.

422. REMEMBER IT ALL

REMEMBER IT ALL
'...Like it was yesterday : the gibsome swan,
the stand at Ebb's Lane, the dominoes at the
Cathedral Fever Diner. She came strolling in,
Ellen, and said it was 'her turn to sit.'
And so she did. I came unglued by beauty -
or something approaching it. A small hand
on a lit cigarette, two large glasses of wine.'
-
That was what he said, anyway. The truth of
the matter was he on the the phone when
the cops came in. They hustled him away for
dealing in drugs, not people. He only wished
as much in his skyscraper notebook. A
filthy Philadelphia King, a dead-ringer for
some Rocky Balboa from a dead-man's Hell.

421. SENT FROM MOURNING

SENT FROM MOURNING
I watched that guy die on his bed -
twisted and taut, sweaty like water. He
simply expired with a twist. It was the
worst thing I ever saw - I couldn't
sleep, I couldn't shake the scene, I
couldn't talk about it.
-
I don't ever want to re-live another scene
like that. Somebody else can do it for me.
Somebody else's father, somebody's mother.
Anything you'd like - uncle, aunt, neighbor, friend.
It wouldn't matter which since the same's coming
to all. Sincerely yours, Armand Mourning.

420. FROM CARIOU TO HERKIMER

FROM CARIOU TO HERKIMER
I have wandered white, with both eyes closed.
I have sat for hours fast asleep while pretending
to be awake - it is all so simple really and there
is no difference to be seen. Jongleur and troubadour,
both, have already entered the scene and gone.
Music plays faintly somewhere softly.
-
The ridges in the land are patterns for the scape -
high hills, ragged promontories, jagged bluffs of
rock and stone. Glacial graffiti, as it were, of times
long gone. High above the land, I manage looking down
without too much trouble : without so much as a blink,
without ever realizing that my eyes are still shut.
-
Angels may come and angels may go -
winged messengers scarfed and bundled with
raiment and glow. Singing celestial songs, they
hover close. I hear the music, but still see nothing.
I wonder, occasionally - am I an angel, or just a man?

419. RAIN

RAIN

(Not With Logic Disposed To Remedy)

We cut out the wet pajamas

in only the most obscure manner -

(when the men were making cars,

when the women were making ovens).

The morning sky had darkened, in what

was a most fitting manner, over the course

of a minute or two - from dark to light to

dark again; and then the torrential

downpour came. Everything reveled

while everything suffered too. Water,

water everywhere, and not a drop would

do. 'Well this is a fine kettle of fish

you've gotten me into' - sainted men

salubriously talk like this - 'I take my

hat off to you.' Someone ran by in a

hurry, to try and escape the rain.

(Which is something you can never do).

418. ASSERTIVENESS WITH ITS ALARM BELL

ASSERTIVENESS WITH
ITS ALARM BELL
Three moments past the shoulder arms shot :
a cryptic general wearing his ribbons and crests.
Nothing so outlandish as a knight in shining armor
dying like a slob : things dribbling from his mouth,
famous rancorous last words recorded, and posterity
wiping up every bit. Nothing left, nothing researched.
If we are what we eat - then gluttony has its rooster
in the cage. All that, and I am shamed by nothing.
-
The kingpin butcher with the hobbled hands,
twenty fattened geese, sick to death, being
force-fed by Mexican hands. The kinds of
work only a moron should do - something
forced, something useless, something bad.
-
I never loved a military man. I never loved
an order. I never loved a rule.

417. MAD TRAIN MAD TRAIN

MAD TRAIN MAD TRAIN
I have to live with bells and whistles.
I have to ride the train with huddles of
others going to and fro. It is like
dawn and daylight together, always.
We talk - instead of just silence.
To some, the noise is better.
I hear a million things, and
learn a million other.
-
It is always near; the corner of
where I stand - rounding something,
watching for the light, hearing the bells
and the whistles. The same few conductors,
always, lurking about; some fat, others just
stout. They nod and they talk - clipping the
tickets, checking the stubs. I'm never sure
of what routine to follow. Is it me who's
here, or have I already gone?

416. ORIENTALE

ORIENTALE
Two hands on the burning log; a sudden pang
of pain, fearsome sizzle, and a sudden scream.
Like that in a dream; but with the endless sky
above and the open heart of a peaceful dove
dropping down to bless the scene - this was
some Japanese theater, brought forth by kids,
fifteen year-olds anyway. The Shibanu Theater
Academy, with red velvet seats just like long ago.
On Avenue B. Something like that, dear and royal
to memory. Emperor. Great Lord of Sky.
-
I entered after paying three dollars, and sat down.
Watching what transpired, what was presented,

I confused more than myself in merely interpreting
what I saw. It was all spectacle. A great mime of
eastern theater entitled 'The Horror Imagination'.

I was in awe of what I saw. I was enamored

of the cast. I hoped it would never end.
I wanted it to last.

415. LIVING AN EARTHLY LIFE

LIVING AN EARTHLY LIFE
I'd found the source of this market
was lies - quite considerably so. They
came forth like water from rock.
I was standing at 18th and Pine,
in Philadelphia, when the man
from the courthouse approached me.
He put out his hand. He was
walking a dog. We nodded and
shook, as if making friends.
'My friend, my friend, the Civil
War Museum is closed. But actually,
on these very corners, across from
each other, lived Ulysses S. Grant
and General Meade. Boyhood friends too.
General Grant was later used by James Joyce
as the title character in his book titled the
same. 'Ulysses', that is. Meade's family
took its name from a drink favored
by early civilized man.
You can look it all up', he said,
laughing.

414. THE UNMARVELED CIRCUMSTANCE OF WANT

THE UNMARVELED
CIRCUMSTANCE
OF WANT
(I really loved Mary,
I really loved Jane.
Underneath the covers,
they were all the same.)
'You can take your freight car and shove it. Albert Camus,

remember, died on the road, and even Frank O'Hara, I think

it was, was sliced in two by an errant dune buggy. The last time

I painted this house I painted it green; how it's turned back

to white is beyond me.' The radio played 'Days of Wine

and Roses', but it played it over and over again as if

there was nothing else to do. I soon grew bored,
and walked away holding pieces of twig and some
twine from the garden where I'd just been
hanging out. It was just great fun

watching Nellie Bly bend over.
-
Everything all day was like this. Toil and sweat, repeat,
and toil and sweat again. Why? I do not know.
And then the guests began coming, two by two,
into the restaurant next door. Guys with their
dates, girls with their guys, guys with guys
and girls with girls. Everybody looking
good - well, girls anyway; all I cared
about. I wondered who'd be sleeping
with whom before the night was thru.

413. AND HOW I HIT SO HARD

AND HOW I HIT SO HARD
Fragments such as these, left and
found in the bottom of a pocket.
Specks of paper and the lint of a lie.
Wednesday the 24th was nothing compared
to this. You know, since I've already told it,
how they hid in the alcove and jumped out,
fists flying, as they wrestled me to the ground.
-
Somehow, a knife came out, and then another.
With a changing complexion, my how that fight
went on. Blood came, things spilled. A loosened
tooth was a lucky break. It was over in ten minutes.
-
Which is a lot for a brawl, a long time to
fight getting winded, an era to keep from
muscle fatigue. You think it's easy?
Shows how little you know.

412. BEING BORN INTESTATE

BEING BORN

INTESTATE
Never for a second.
The barking dog.
Something like a barnyard
pig, rooting through slop,
fending off advances, trying
desperately to find the machine
within the dream. Pile-driver
Heaven and a manager with
a heart of gold.
-
In the glimmer of early morning,
while the sun slides slowly
along its way, I watch the
daylight colors, brightening,
rising, everything opening up.
I think of that woman I'd just
seen, in her white robe,
stepping outside, bending
down, picking up the day's
paper, thrown onto her lawn.
-
It's nothing ever like this.
When it hits you.
This is life, completely
apparent, and then
(slowly) it's over
in a flash.

411. YOU AND A DYNAMITE CURTSY

YOU AND A
DYNAMITE CURTSY
I am caught between a hair-lever past
and a future too dull to read. I am
stretched between two places in time
of which neither is offered as
solace or condolence, nor happiness
or mirth. Opposites attract, it is
said. And if that is so, then there
I am at once - already engaged in
disobeying the rules. My hat goes
off to no man, and nothing in time can
stop me - neither from running in
place nor winning the race.
And then you come along :
disruptive bumpkin, outlandish
rake, oafish daughter of the guy
from Mars, keeper of birds in a
barnyard of filth.

410. DARKNESS

DARKNESS
In the most obscure way possible,
I set to ringing bells - sneaking into
towers under cover of the night,
and awakening whole villages with
the pillage and plunder of noise.
There were some who rose willingly,
lighting their tapers and rummaging
about - sticking first heads and then
bodies and arms out their doorways
and windows. 'What is all this, and
what is it about?' they'd query
whomever they could - with, of
course, no answers to be forthcoming.
Others cowered, and stayed indoors.
The darkness covered me well.
I was hidden, and no one knew.

409. THE PASTICHE OF THE INDETERMINATE

THE PASTICHE OF

THE INDETERMINATE

Berkeley, having said, 'to be perceived is to exist' did

seem to disappear. It really was no matter, I suppose,

after that. Some of us hardly now know his name, let

alone what he may have said. After all, everything's

perception, is it not? I see you, you see me, no?

-

It wasn't always thus: a time ago, when cavemen

waltzed their soily pavement, the things unseen

were more feared than things apparent. In front

of one was easy! It should have been so simple.

Unseen lurking dangers. Tigers, tigers, burning

bright. Chimeras, ogres, spirits, devils and

curses and the like - shapeless things of

awesome form. 'What'cha don't see can kill'ya!'

some caveman must have grunted I'm sure.

-

So now we settle for hardness and grit.

This material world abounds. We shake

hands with the solid effect of everything

present. What we can't figure out (apparently

yet) are the fingers and figments of love,

the pastiche of the indeterminate, the

glowing quilt of our own fears and doubts.

408. ALL THE DOGS ARE RESTED

ALL THE DOGS

ARE RESTED
'The dead certainty with which they
have made this land has gotten us
nowhere really.' I looked up.
'It would perhaps be easier
just for him to tell us where
he hasn't been.'
'Tell me about your travels,
oh my!' Laughter.
'Who cares though?',
The other girl said.
'Never did get a chance
to finish. Thank you,
thank you. Is that
Monday?'

407. WE ARE PLACED HERE

WE ARE PLACED HERE
to reinforce one another...
that we are both in the light.
Some mongrel's voice is coming
through the curtains from another
room - in which I do not have to
dwell. By stepping foot inside,
I'd know I was already lost.
It's been said that poets have
certain ways to which they always
revert in their writing. I deem that
this may be so; maybe it is not,
but I would never know. For I
was born to fly backwards.

406. TRAFALGAR SQUARE

TRAFALGAR SQUARE
Or somewhere. The clairvoyant magistrate had
already phoned ahead, bringing forth a few gardeners,
an expert in wainscoting, and a tired old man who was
good with tires, ran the quarter mile swiftly,
held no grudges and handed out alms.
Over on the left, Sally Quigley herself had
let down her guard and was growing roses
from her knees. Her boyfriend smoked a pipe,
and it started to rain. Nobody looked up.
The odds were ten-to-one some form
of royalty would show up,
arrive swiftly, and just
as swiftly, depart.

405. INCUNABULA (This Very Life We Lead)

INCUNABULA

(This Very Life We Lead)
In putting little babies to the test, is it wise
to dunk them in their bath? To see how
long they stay beneath the settled water,
unable to breath, yet screaming? A
wide-opened mouth with nothing coming
out. Like a book, freshly printed and still
letter-press wet, not yet bound or stitched -
hundreds of pages in quartos and octos,
stay in place, awaiting some final act
by which they are finished-up, or the better
word, 'completed'. In the end, we really
find ourselves little-caring for anything
either way - living, dying or staying put.
Maybe even something in between.
This very life we lead.

404. TIRED FEST (Like Quasimodo in Outer Space)

TIRED FEST
(Like Quasimodo in Outer Space)
Lanterns in the trees; things adorned with
Japanese lights and ghost-heads and spirits.
The kimono-clad lady was drinking her tea:
pinkie up, small eyes, creased, and a smile.
I couldn't figure out a thing. Why she smiled,
in fact, was the first question I had. Off behind
her, Sumo wrestlers belched and barked, like
seals and warriors determined to be rude or stupid.
In their over-sized diapers, these fat guys looked
ridiculous, but I couldn't laugh. I felt strange,
in a distant foreign land, out-of-place.
Like Quasimodo, say, in outer space.

403. TICKETS FOR THE METHOD ACTOR (1956)

TICKETS FOR THE
METHOD ACTOR

(1956)
The carriage blew in on a burst of speed.
Streamlined emoting, nodding on nothing,
bringing forth the image from reliving the act.
One line after another - on some old ragged script -
kept me noodling in silence for coffee and eggs
(like some old drama diner where tired old
actors hung out with their food). 'I couldn't
claim for nothing', the ancient film star muttered,
'I couldn't claim for nothing. I'd done it all
before, and it had all been taken from me.'