Monday, December 31, 2012

4052. WITH MY OWN SWAGGER

WITH MY OWN SWAGGER
(to Jenna)
What difference to blood or diamonds
does any of this make? John Ciardi died
a long time ago, and his last words to me
were 'get lost!'. How do you like that now,
I wonder? And is your nose still running?
Are you sniffling on? I've got a dirty friend
now living in a Brooklyn hovel. I want to
be all things to you except for trouble. I
want to publish 10,000 books and pages.
I want you to slobber on me. I want to see
you naked. How far away can any of this be?
-
'Take no comfort in waiting.
Everything now is already too late.'

No comments: