ANATHEMA
You shock me with information, leaving only a
stir in your wake. The little yellow building has
fallen. The ticket man - who used to sit inside -
died back in 1995. How up on things then am I?
My party was once called the Know-Nothings.
At least it was when I founded it. Now, it's called
nothing at all - as is all this happy life. One of love
and people, strangers meeting on trains on street corners,
lovers engulfed in guidebooks and covers, tradesmen
selling secrets to distant and foreign lands.
-
I want to ride my car back to Elmira; and hide among
the eaves and woodlands, the housetops and caves along
the Chemung River. I want to sleep outdoors at Quarry
Farm, pretending Mark Twain still sits there talking to
me. I want to find the sister of somebody I left there
long ago. Keep me cheaply in your graces. I ask for
nothing and get little in return. But that's OK -
I just said I ask for nothing.
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