4716. LET ME HAVE A STARTER

LET ME HAVE A STARTER

Cap gun ragamuffin Coney Island baby : I remembered

all that from a grade-school primer, the kind they use

today. Every tenth word a regular fucking shit-ass

profanity, cloaked and swaddled in perverse, smooth

intention. 'We don't want no kids growin' up to be babies.'

Yeah, okay, what he said, sure.

-

I noticed they paved the park. Now they can call it a

parkway. I noticed they put up a big sign which reads

'Park'  -  with an arrow. But it goes nowhere, except just

to a parking deck filled with cars at $29.95, 12 hours.

What the Hell is that to mean? Post-modernism with an edge?

-

I iced down the furnace right after I heated up the ice shed.

I licked a stamp right after I punched the clock. Egads.

4715. AT THE END OF RUNWAY HAVEN

AT THE END OF 

RUNWAY HAVEN

 'You can't play games in Hell, there's just no

room to manuever.'  That's the translated

inscription on this old Papal statue in the 

Vatican Garden  -  at least as this crazy

old man was telling me, in a garbled 

half-Italian, which I only only 

pretended to fully understand.

-

How far along in this prescient world

does a body have to go before deciding

nothing's worth the fuss and matter?

But if we knew ahead of time all that,

then we wouldn't have to know.

I guess that's so.

-

Now, instead of playing with a mime,

I'm eating black pizza with olives at a

little stovetop shrine atop some hallway

with a stairway to the harbor  -  little

white boats are floating away on

a quite happy sea of blue.

4714. CABIN FEVER

CABIN FEVER

And then again I wouldn't have anything without

the knowing of the condition it brings : I once swore

that's how I would live. I wanted but two windows,

both looking out (or was that in?). I wanted one wire 

alone connecting me to anything else; either that or

off the gird completely. Now there's a windmill

as a turbine twirling on the hillside. I wonder each

day how that occurred. Was I asleep?

-

As the rabbit hops it hopes to find its place :

Spring was nice but isn't this even better? The

loft above the barn is a sleepy place, but rabbits

remain on the ground : distaff, eternal, symbolic.

The trees are coated now, with all the parts of mass

and matter. Rain, like a net, engulfs the grassy way.

4713. SOMETHING IN YOUR EYE

SOMETHING IN YOUR EYE

(to be so confused)

Cat got your tongue? Mother tied your laces?

My you're looking young; all those lipstick traces.

-

A fearsome new Mercedes sits running out front : the

engine is already impacted by the scent of its own wealth.

The owners are two miles away; they have a driver for

this little stuff. He will park the car and wait.

-

While I dine on you. While I think of your presence.

While all those Amelekites I still think of are the ones

who must be killed : this little Bible tells me that.

'Remember ye what Amelek did unto thee by the 

way as ye came forth out of Egypt; how he met thee 

by the way and smote the hindmost of thee...thou

shalt blot out the remembrance of Amalek from under

heaven; thou shalt not forget.' What the hell is this?

-

Oh Lord, I shall bow down before nothing.

I shall tie your laces to all your faces, and run

off with the evidence of living. Just that alone 

shall be enough to kill. I am now too old

to be so confused.

4712. AVVENTURA PASSWAY

AVVENTURA PASSWAY

But only the elite hold these candles of darkness in the light

of the passage : move along, see the light at the end as it

beckons. I do not know what it is  -  once a man said

'it's a train coming at you.' I shudder to think of the truth

of that line. Here, now, look : this mountain has been

cut away, this passage put through. Rail and road,

together, bringing forth people on their ways, to

sometime other things and places.

-

These Swiss Alps, that's what you say, to me mark nothing

but expense  -  of travel, of lodging, of dining beneath that

two-hundred year old frieze of some naked lady eating grapes.

Whatever were they thinking? Oompah, dance-hall, folkways,

rhythm. In my land they call it the Blues.

-

But here I am entered in a new game of chance : I have

traveled bereft of my luggage on SwissAir, and landed

in Bern now so lonely. Five things left in my pockets, I

count. My two pens, remaining in my lapel slip, now have

nowhere to write. There is a man, coming towards me with

an Interpol badge. Brushing by me again, he nods. Should I

ask him about anything at all?

-

The University of Berne, Zentrum, the Federal Palace,

the Historical Museum; what do I care for these things? I

have left behind an identity, yet here can find nothing new.

No cloak to wear, no funny hat, no other meaning. When I

left New York, it was raining. They say it only rains here

ten times a year. I guess I shall be on my way.

4711. CONVENTION

CONVENTION

I can't stand this room, I can't stay in place.

I am moving fast over very slow space.

-

Alamogordo, the bomb-test, and all that

glassine sand. I don't understand.

-

I can't stay in this room, my limbs are too large

for these fittings, and all my buttons have burst.

-

It always amazes me how men talk : about things less

than wholesome, about killing meats and deer and things.

-

I've never travelled farther than I can see; I've seen past where 

I was. I cannot fit this circuit any longer. Too large am I.

-

I cannot stand this room. I cannot stay in place.

I am moving fast over very slow space.

4710. THIS CONTAGION MAKES ME WINCE

THIS CONTAGION

MAKES ME WINCE

(Life as I know it)

I'm aghast again and more and Jesus H. Christ let

me get this right. Tumblers tumble and comedians

can chuckle, correct? When the audience laughs,

does it mean they've got it? Now where did I park

my car? How far away is the Pacific rim?

-

Let me follow? You say the pudding was made from

the blood of pigs? You say you left the map on the

car's hood? How then did we get from here to there;

well, I guess I mean there to here? I would shoulder

most any burden for you; but, gotta' run.

-

Far, far away, in another clime, the little lady was

asking questions of a man in a coat : 'How am I

to stand this, and how much more should I take?

You seem to be making everyone else act just

like you.' I forswear that's really too much.

-

When I was in Room 419 for those three years of

madness, the guy from the State would come once

a month, asking me the same questions and asking if

I felt ready for release. It was quite a game. I made

stories up, and then requests. I asked for his daughter's

hand in marriage, but then I added 'Not really; it's not

her hand I'm seeking  -  I want the whole entire bunch

of her, Sir!' He marked me down as 'Incipient repeater,

hardened of foibles, incorrigible recluse.' And then he

 added this deadly caveat : 'Contagious.'

4709. BLACK CAT D'ARCY

BLACK CAT D'ARCY

All this Halloween junk takes over.

Its toll is three more months of crap  - 

first the one then the other, all these

holidays leave me weak. I'm able to

ignore all things; that my one

saving grace.

4708. VANDEVEER

VANDEVEER

Now is the moment of smiling, the light and the

laughter of mirth  -  some happy kid on the

bread wrapper, a monkey with glasses on the

vegetable soup. None of this makes sense,

but wouldn't matter in a court of law.

Nolo contendere there.

-

My last arm broke the bank, turned my

allegiances into all new grievances. A placebo

in the memory bank remains : the fellow from

 India says his name is 'Bhat'. He invites

me in, but we leave it at that. The

overhead scale weighs nothing itself.

How can that be?

4707. UNTIL MCALLISTER RETURNED

UNTIL MCALLISTER RETURNED

There didn't seem to have been a marvel in the

emerald city, and even Booth Tarkington was

gone. Early, before dawn anyway, there was

little to do, the two dogs slept, and only a

skeptic could take heart from dark things.

Lights went out along the alley as day returned.

'Lights' went out along the alley as day returned.'

Yes, practicing my lines like that took courage  -

I had my big scene to have learned by heart.

No one allows cue cards on this fearsome

stage. Pictures on the wall showed a

WWI vessel burning at sea; and

that was all.

4706. HAVING MARKED LITTLE MILESTONES

HAVING MARKED

LITTLE MILESTONES
(lou reed, 1942-2013)

I last saw Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson, with some

really tall guy with long, blond hair, at DIA Beacon.

He looked like a rumpled, crusty, little Jewish

old man, Lou Reed did. It was so quaint and beautiful

too, how I realized the passing of time and the days I

was in. So different was it now  -  like a child walking

in sand, with a doll in her arms. Everything was special.

4705. MY LIFE IN THE EXTREME

MY LIFE IN THE EXTREME

I have that smile

I have that smile within me, grinning :

bursting at its seams, smashing out and

running free. All this life and some grand glee.

Let me introduce the moment - 'this is Grandiosity

and this is Mr. Majesty. Her is Mr. Steadfast and

his child Earnest.  We all know each other well.

-

I walked the Cumberland Gap with an old

Indian fellow name Milo Two-Feathers.

I noticed he  screamed at birds and

laughed at the sun. An old pin-point

wound was centered on his head : 

'where the white man pointed me',

he smiled. That was all he said.

4704. GREAT KIMODO DRAGON

GREAT KIMODO DRAGON

Much like God hanging on a hook, staring back

to space, into a place unlike any other. I watched

that fearsome tongue -  of light, of fire, of death.

It scared me to no end. Just down the street,

the Newark train station and all those gypsy cabs

waited, beckoning. The FBI Headquarters loomed,

and the Law School as well. A law school in a place

of no law. A man was eating fish from a take-out box.

-

There are certain places where no variants exist, where

things are just always bad, always rotten. The sheds of

the old rail line, now disposed of, once stood here; bums

and vagrants hanging around, campfires and barrels, with

planks of wood for seating and sleep. It was a quick ride,

from NYC, on a 25 cent PATH. It was something to do.

-

Back on the other side, on the other hand, History was

still being written. You could live through New York

with a thread of a story; in Newark nothing was worth

anything at all  -  Philip Roth and LeRoi Jones

notwithstanding  -  and even they were

not any longer from there.

-

A man was eating fish, from a take-out box.

4703. REMONSTRATING FOR RELIEF

REMONSTRATING FOR RELIEF

Line up the ogres and shoot the pests. We've got

nothing left to lose. I am standing in the corridors

of power, yet can find nothing here. Every president

has died twice. Look at the cameos on the purple wall.

-

Virginia rolls into the countryside where people died;

Maryland breaths its last. Every Spotsylvania dinnerplate

is spotless. The horses here are holding their breath.

-

Power has a palaver of its own. Lamp-lights can be

dimmed so that the lower light of thoughtfulness shines :

'Wake me later', the small man says, standing on a thick

book, retrieving his height, enforcing his fight. All this

toughness yet must be seen, again and again and again.

-

It was a long time ago when some Pope named Paul, was

it, came to New York  and stayed at the guesthouse of the

Plaza Hotel. 'Holy shit!' he was heard to exclaim, 'this

place is haunted for sure. Look at the cameos on

this purple wall, I swear they are moving again.'

4702. WHAT'S THE IDEA?

WHAT'S THE IDEA?

Only North Americans really care about the weather;

the rest of the world couldn't give a shit. All those Fiji

Islanders washed out to sea, you think they even noticed?

Woke up slowly, said 'my hut is gone?', and then realized

where they were. Adrift, oh far and distant atoll, like the

heart that is lost at love, like the spirit which broke all

rules and never left. Anywhere else?  Take your choice

and run with it. Your loss will be my gain?

-

One time, on 54th Street, I was nearly run down by a truck -

the old sort of occurrence: I didn't look, the driver was busy,

the truck was on the run  -  had it really hit me, I'd be dead.

As it is, it missed, and the driver came out screaming.

'Watch where you're walking, you stupid son of a bitch!'

I screamed back, 'You're sister was my mother, so she

must be the bitch you mention, asshole!'

-

I love the fun of living to the hilt; all those things with

which to play and things with which to agree : 'you

really do have a nice smile'; 'I feature your kiss on

my list of ten best'; 'the idea behind our acquaintanceship,

I always thought, was pure, unbridled lust  -  but underscored

by the form of love they write about in hymnals.'

-

You don't understand? Don't ask me 'what's the idea? again.

4701. I JUST DON'T CARE

I JUST DON'T CARE

All that I ever wanted was found, and I never

even had to look : like the serendipitous meeting,

on a street, of Jerry Lewis and Dean, let's say, or

Rodgers and Hart. (Oh those dated references will

get me every time). I just don't care.

-

The guy who invented the waffle iron had a

very bad complexion. The woman who invented

stockings, I'd bet, was a man. The rogue who

invented line-ups was, for certain, a cop.

That's just the way things go. I just don't care.

-

There's a waterfall by Lindisfarne; it runs up when

the chips are down. The woman in the mascot jersey,

she weaves spells while she bakes all those muffins.

I don't care. I just don't care.

4700. OH IMPASSE

OH IMPASSE

Do you know me now? I am that rich man,

remember, passing through the camel's eye.

No, no, sorry, I am that rich man passing

through the eye of the needle. I think that

was it. Now I have sundry manifestations

of both doubt and angst. I ate my own ennui.

Drank my bottled stew. Savored every piece

of guilt I found. The girl in the yellow mantilla,

I remembered her name as Maria. She answered

with a smile. Now, some time later, all that's

past is over. I am done. I am finished. Five

years in April Arms Prison was my sentence.

Fifteen hundred men, sitting around mostly,

watching porno on government computers.

What a mess is this, oh what a mess is this.

4699. OVERVIEW

OVERVIEW

The overview of Picasso was, 'too much like

Van Gogh'; while the overview of Van Gogh

was 'too much like Ingres or Goya.' You know all

that. Art weasels love their easels, especially when

they've never painted. If I had a dollar for every

time I've ever yawned, I'd be a tired man for sure.

4698. THIS IS MY ENDINGS : THESE ARE MY END

THIS IS MY ENDINGS :

THESE ARE MY END

All of this is just a bit off  -  like the bird, singing

out of turn, or missing its retraction of the silence's

own sentence. A water-fountain dryly seeps; the walkway

is wet with its leakings.  A few people pass with grocery

bags  -  they seem as if tied up in a knot, the people do;

yapping and complaining about lines and prices. Who

the devil cares? have you ever seen those places? I

myself, yes, briefly considered exile once, to Chile or

to Madagascar. Neither one seemed quite right, so I

just simply stayed in place. Oh Lord, here I am.

4697. I LOVE THE BLACK AND WHITE

I LOVE THE BLACK AND WHITE

Those old photos of the charming sea demean nothing,

least of all me, standing here with two hands in one

pocket, idly wasting. Outside the light's bright arc,

some shifty boat rocks back and forth in a gray,

dark overtime of anguish. Bored to death with irony.

Lumbering to the dock to seek support. Tethered by rope.

-

So many things are still tied up : the kids, the wife, the

family and house, the job, and all those matterings of

intended things. While I simply fall down in the midnight

air, this black and white world has taken over all things.

-

I want to ride the wheelcart nearby right into another

land  -  perplexing myself by nothing, no longer at

war with my invasions of doubt and service. If I

were stronger, I'd fight  -  instead, I'll just linger.

Fade to black. Devoid of color and wash, I

must wash the living stains from off my

face, and make refreshed this life I lead.

4696. DO IT ALL

DO IT ALL

Pad the circumstance and make

each word count. Wave your hand 

and dither not. Throw it all out; cast

your lot, heave your burden. Make it

certain. Your pissing in the sand is soon

absorbed; can you think anymore of

how we've ruined the world? The willow

shrinks where the yard once was.

4695. NO AFFILIATION

NO AFFILIATION

Saul Bellow & Delmore Schwartz, 
at Lahiere's, Princeton, NJ, 1952)
It is a hard life, all this waiting for dawn,

sensing what the Moon will evade, seeing 

the two dippers up high, on black, against 

the night sky. All will be what it is.

-

There are men talking dutifully nearby,

and without any end, it seems  -  they

go on about what they will: streets and

daughters and what their wives last said.

'We have plenty of communication, but

I still want out.' Aha! This jester speaks!

-

I find, anyway, the Jewish curse in all

this foolish talking, about money and

gain and loss and advantage. To take

such pride in a passing moment, it seems

to me, is foolish, as foolish as Life itself.

Especially as a Jew, with all the things

that are otherwise professed. Pippa 

passes, now atone for the rest.

-

I am lost instead  -  of no affiliation like

this : still mourning the American loss; of

plains and Indians, of grains and oceans.

To be frank, my little, loose-limbed darling,

there is nothing left and all I've ever learned

is dead. Man has defied his structures and

an atomic belief in atoms is no belief at all.

-

In sitting with Saul Bellow, there is still a nervousness

left. The grand, old stories  -  all those Jewish ways,

the Montreal beginnings, the guys and goys, from

Lefferts and Chicago, Morningside and Lake Shore

Drive. I haven't held to happenstance myself that long,

and anyway, Delmore Schwartz will never come home.

No, Delmore Schwartz will never come home  -  

having lost his affiliation too.

4694. NOMENCLATURE HAS IT

NOMENCLATURE HAS IT

The scientists agree the universe has no limits,

that the unending dirge of time will go on indefinitely,

the every cry rings at a Heaven's door. It does seem

like that sometimes. Even here, in the corridors of

a dark Wall Street canyon, there are things to be

seen and done, and others not. Giving names to

all the animals was only the start of things.

-

We missed our mark most times since then.

There are no branches over these streets,

though these banks have many. That sounds

so bucolic, does it not  -  though I mean trees

and the rivers others may think I mean banks.

-

So much of this is personal frenzy, and I do like

interior-narrative jokes. Close that new book, wastrel.

You are not made for this declasse brood and you'd

better move on. Everything you call something else

has probably another name altogether.

4693. IN THE OLD DAYS

IN THE OLD DAYS

In the old days, now found wanting, there was

a crush of metal things to do : jack up the barn,

as it was sagging, burn the far fields to savage the

weevil. Erect a corn-shed with local cuttings, plane

and hammer and nail what you had all together.

A few others would help; they - with their wives -

would come over a spend a day or a few: pies and

cakes and soups, while the mud roadway thickened

and the path to the milk house sunk. Thus it was,

always all these things. My son grew up, and then

died in a plowing accident. My daughter too, she 

lost two fingers in the rake. One of them would

have probably held her wedding ring, later, had

she survived for any of those farther days.

4692. DEAR FELLOW MAN

DEAR FELLOW MAN

As far as I see it,  -  and I'm most usually wrong  - 

you're just wasting time; following your noisy

kid around on his bicycle, learning to ride. Him, yes,

not you, of course. Walking the source of all things,

just hoping for balance. How can you even explain

to that kid what he's about to do or what he's up

against. We walk the razor's blade-edge of circumstance,

ourselves, with any training wheels long gone.

Now I watch too  -  he's lost a shoe. It's in the road.

-

The sun is up above all heads. Circumstantial evidence,

as it is, and certinly not for 'everyone'  -  this flatulent

globe, I'm told, bends and curves and is a circle, rotating,

pumping its gases, finding its own wheezing balance.

While we kill it? Or do we just try?

4691. IN THAT OLD MAGAZINE

IN THAT OLD MAGAZINE

In that old magazine of time I was writing a

note  -  some blank page someone had left me;

describing a feeling, the roaming of an idea,

idle and haphazard. From where I was sitting  - 

on an old museum couch, watching people pass  - 

there was nothing more than the truth in every lost

person's eyes. Each was crying for love and perfection, 

and I really could offer both though I dare not do. Then

the matter ended itself  -  harshly enough as the guy for

the lecture stepped in. He asked me what my matter was,

and I said a game, he smiled back and then asked my name.

'Nothing more wild than that, I suppose.' was what I said to him.

And then I added, 'But you best call me Jim.' By then everyone

else was standing, some even thinking I was him. What a coarse

conundrum I'd started. I let the fellow get started at once.

-

We were talking some Minimal Art, some Heizer and Smithson
and Reiman and Arp. After a while though, it all gets so tiresome,
so dark, so weary, tendentious and vacant and loud  -  all just like
the art crowd; remember though, in that old magazine
of time I was writing a note.

4690. THUS THE SENSATION

THUS THE SENSATION

We are proud and pale  -  with the pallor

of some old vampire movie, remembered by

candlelight. I own up to nothing. Thinking back,

to 47th Street, and all that old 'Silver Factory' stuff,

now just knowing how young and dumb I was.

-

Like candy in a snuffbox, like a ribbon on a

corpse, the entire idea is different than it should

have been but it was done anyway. I cannot grab

your ankles at the tops of your shoes  -  so please

don't dangle any longer from that ledge for me.

-

All the blood then rushing to your head : thus the

sensation, thus the sensation you are feeling instead.

4689. SO MANY THINGS

SO MANY THINGS

So many things now pain me, hurting. This drive

to the finish wants me drunk. This lunge for the end

demands I stay high. There are needle marks in my

calves, just over that alone. And I've never really touched

a drop  -  all these dreams remain my only sustenance.

-

Here, where I desired, I am under the elms  -  tall trees

are brooding, swooping their arc'd arms downward

upon me : shedding leaves with a compulsion. I am

covered in fallen things. Oh lord, so many fallen things.

4688. DEAR DR. GRAVESMAN

DEAR DR. GRAVESMAN

He marks off the sheet with his awesome

colored pencil; a reed in a stylus of blood, or

or a dripping tangible in a universe of ether.

Either way, he is the one with the power.

No man taller than the man who reaches high.

'Dear Dr. Gravesman, was it I who did this to

myself, or has it come from someplace else?'

-

I noticed he did not answer, just scrawled some

more. 'I do not like thee, Doctor, I do not like

thee well. You take my joys and tie them up,

and diagnose them Hell!' Those were my

words, not his. I never did find out what

he'd written on those yellow sheets.

4687. MISALLIANCE AND DEPUTATION

MISSALIANCE AND DEPUTATION

I've really had it with this world, I want some

recognition : Why aren't Senators and Congressmen

rounded up and jailed? Why have been sold down

the blasted river. The blinders are long off, and 

the drunken horses are drowned in the stream. 

I can't take another moment of this. I am 

waiting for someone to scream.

-

Your self-righteous motherfuckers are in front of

the cameras again; their sickening orange ties and 

flaming dyed hairs, their poutish shit-spouses and

kids, proclaiming the republic for which it stands.

-

You want your Freedom, asshole? You're going to

have to fight for it. Now. There was a time, long back,

when most people knew they had to fight for it,

not whimper it away. The sword is beautiful,

sometimes, even dripping with blood.

-

We never have now, not on this new territory anyway :

We will soon have to fight for our freedom!

We will soon have to fight for our freedom!

We will soon have to fight for our freedom!

(Here's what you want, you American son of a bitch).

4686. SIGNIFICANT MEN

SIGNIFICANT MEN

Horace Walpole walking by. Huntz Hall

and Leo Gorcey too. Algernon Swinburne

is serving dinner  -  when Rossetti's peacocks

learn to fly. Now that it's all been wrapped and

sealed, let us acclaim this modern world.

-

'Just because we can blow up the world, by

Jiminy, let's do it!' Oh yeah, that sounded like

fun, like Kruschev's shoe banging on a table,

like Dick Nixon's notion of golf in the sand.

-

The woman in society, subservient to the man;

she calls him a bum, he calls her a whore. Where

can they go when they can't go anymore? 

She's a conveyor for him.

-

You can call me back in twenty-four, but you

should know I never answer the phone. My father

was the king, my mother was the queen, but they

both stayed at home, alone. (You think Life is

truthful, but it's not. It is logical, but never the truth).

4685. COME, RASPUTIN, COME

COME, RASPUTIN, COME

Now the periwinkles have faded, the last blue light

is in the sky, and everything before me is passing quickly.

Overcharged at a movie show  -  bad print, jumping film,

projectionist drunk in his hole. More like the wild west is this

than any Trans-Siberian Railroad ever dreamed up. They've

put the dogs in the cattle cars and now all the best seats have

cattle in them; braying, mooing, lowing bovines. Let the lights

flicker, I don't care any longer. Somehow my Austrian cigarette

is burning from the middle out. I'll pay you in Euros at the border.

-

I remember Helmut Schmidt when he lived here. I once walked

to the chemist with Ranier Fassbinder too. It was like nothing at

all, except that we were pushing his car  -  Lada, Volga, something

like that. He said he 'knew it only worked on Tuesday, Thursday

and Friday' but that he would take a chance. Nonetheless, it failed. 
So eastern was all that  -  the tired men, the fat girls, 
and Novaya Minsk too.

-

The young girl from Amsterdam is skating down the stairs, her

iceskates on her ears. She is fast, and does anything for money.

High on the avenue's window, I saw her once, looking down onto

the reddish night. So pleasing, so pleasant, the sight. I forget the

name of the street, but it meant 'Butterfly' or something like that.

-

I can go home with nothing in my pockets and you in my hands.

Or  -  I suppose  -  I can just as easily go home with my pockets 
full and my hands barren of you. Thomas Wolfe, in America, said, 
'You can't go home again.' I guess I beg to differ; I have
 two distinct ways of going. Or maybe he just meant you 
can only do it once, and not again.