Saturday, September 13, 2014

5902. DELMORE

DELMORE
I am thinking the world has been reduced to
debauchery  -  piglets running freely; a fire, raging
too far past its limits to care. There is no reason left.
Men are beasts, and their snatches of care and concern 
are untrue : their maidens are harrowing shrews, their
children belong in the dumps. This is my stance, yes.
-
I'm holding a battered shovel, the one with which I
bury things  -  dug deep, this hole may have no bottom.
Without a doubt, I've already managed a merit badge
for something : hovels, prisons, dreams or death. For
each of them I've been a fine engineer. Designing all.
-
Delmore Schwartz stands outside this doorway; across
the street is old Chumley's again. We are sitting back 
to back; two mental chums thinking of nothing. He 
watches to see what we will do. I draw the money from 
my wallet to pay. I get up to leave, and put what is needed 
down on the table. To him, we spin about and wave goodbye.

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