572. YOUR OLD CAN OF STUTTER

YOUR OLD CAN OF STUTTER
...has kept me up way past the night, here comes
the light and it's right through the shutter. I wouldn't
know what else to do had I not read your
book : telling me to wither and die but never
give in, remembering the Alamo in so many
other ways, Sam Houstoning me, in fact, right
past the garden doorway and onto St. Ambrose
Street. Where the icing is free but the cakes
are immensely expensive : Heaven-sent malarkey,
fifteen girls for nothing, thirty men painting
thirty walls, one in each color of lightning.
That old chorus cat you called Mr. Finch,
it still sits motionless on the window ledge
right where you left it. Going in, going out?
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I came home from Akron tired as a dog.
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('Automatic poetry always makes me sick...')
graffiti found on a washroom wall in Ohio.