Saturday, January 31, 2015

6320. NOW PART OF MY PERMANENT COLLECTION

NOW PART OF MY 
PERMANENT COLLECTION
Now part of my permanent collection, this wild
ride to Hell has kept me pretty busy : I just read
today about some leading atheist, having been
asked what he would say to God, should he find 
out 'when he gets there' that there is a God who
said he'd say 'How dare you!' to God.
-
What he meant, he said, was to point out  -  did
you know  -  that there's an insect that exists for
no other purpose but to get into the liquid of an
infant's eye and destroy the vision? How dare you.
How dare you demand homage amidst all these
myths and miseries we must live with.
-
I guess there's a draw to that point; a zone I
can handle. What's the use of worrying if
worrying's all you get? Anyway, it's part
now, of my permanent collection.

6319. LIKE GREEN GRASS, I COULD WATCH YOU ALL NIGHT

LIKE GREEN GRASS, I COULD 
WATCH YOU ALL NIGHT
The hesitation is just a nervous condition I walk
with: I trip and I slobber, but it's mostly over you.
Anyhow. Everything which should have been 
plugged in was plugged in  -  all the lights on the
soundboard and overhead came on OK. I guess that
means things are running fine. Don't trip on the wires.
-
There, look  -  into the spotlight; you look as charming
as little Hell. Your viola da gamba is bigger than my face,
and  -  yes, yes  -  we shine good together. I could do
this forever and ever. Again. Forever and ever.

6318. CONTALINA

CONTALINA
I haven't had a break like this since 1962.
Upstairs in the dead guy's lounge, my father
was sitting. Looking mean and all heated up
about something. He'd just punched the wall.
Apparently. Leaving a good-sized hole.
-
Translating any emotion is difficult, mainly
because no one sees through another's eyes.
And even if I did, I'd never have my fathers
intent. Anyway, he's gone a long time now,
and I still never understand a thing about
what went one between him and me.
-
It's a sorrowful, long, slow and sad thing.
A powerful, long, slow, and sad, thing.

Friday, January 30, 2015

6317. I AM A RESTLESS ROVER

I AM A RESTLESS ROVER
A man of small means, ever on the move, moves
very little, nowhere. It's the semblance of the
move and nothing more. No, then, put that
away  -  I am a restless rover and ever on
the move. You will be following only
my dots on a very small screen.
-
Every day has its dream, every dream has 
its day. Does that make any sense? I am the 
willow tree bending, too loose to ever break.

6316. ANIMAL CEMETERY

ANIMAL CEMETERY
Well, my heart is broken, I swear, forevermore.
I no longer care who kills or who dies  -  all those
stupid Russians and Ukrainians and Crimeans and
the rest. They can die forever before I would care.
This, this is the place I will remain and stay. Woe.
Woe is me, and my empty, staggering, leftover life.

6315. JUST BRING IT TO NORMAL AGAIN

JUST BRING IT 
TO NORMAL AGAIN
Set the name and turn the dial; alter the gauge
to bring all this back. Just like some creep in
a time machine running past fashions, the ages
speed by. I seem hopeless and lost, but I'm not.
-
The world has leaves and pages, just as books
and trees have their own. The very next time
I'm here, I'll show you; but for now I've got
to keep moving on. Allentown, and Haverstraw.
-
All these movie people, they hang out and live,
somehow in Hastings on Hudson, but I don't
know why  -  except for the faintly British
sounding name, there's not a thing to 
attract anyone like that there. 

6314. SPUKHAFTE FERNWIRKUNG

SPUKHAFTE 
FERNWIRKUNG
(spooky action at a distance)
'Put the pen down, please. It's running
out of shadow. It's changing the light
I see. It's running down this room.'
-
I bring spectacular results back home
from distant seas  -  carmine and umber,
tones of a royalty waiting. Look at these,
ermines and rubies, all sorts of things.
-
The sherry is corked? No wonder; let's
take some from these cups and not a
person will know. Thinking it's tea,
perhaps. We'll have a grand, old time.
-
'He was telling me of things : weird things.
Silent phone calls  -  of how people buried
with their phones in their coffins continue
to make silent phone calls...'

Thursday, January 29, 2015

6313. LAND OF MOMENTS

LAND OF MOMENTS
Let me take your hand, this once, okay,
and carry you through  -  there is another
world of magic past this illusion we pay
for. The world is lit by hope. I hope 
you can understand.
-
Third Street has me sitting in a black box 
and handcuffs. It's been said I cannot move
until the new Chairman arrives  -  he's been
called for, but that was already four days ago.
There's a chess club on the far corner, and all
I can do now is watch the geeky guys come
and go. Do no women play this odd game?
-
I want to be Knight, a Rook, a King, in fact.
Anything that would allow me here to change 
my shirt. I pray to any foreign God I find  -
booklets, pamphlets, parchment notes abound.
Any foreign God I find.

6312. WE HAVE 'BRINED'

WE HAVE 'BRINED'
Something like a salt-dome that collapses
upon us, this world wears heavy upon our
shoulders  -  after we take from it what we
can and it takes, as well, from us. Nothing
steady; just more a wavering light, like that
from a candle  -  illuminating a world we call
and we say. Then, the entire world disappears
as we brine open the sinkhole and it swallows
us up. Oh too bad is the loss; and the lost.  We
have 'brined' ourselves to death, though
production is still all the rage.

6311. TOURNEY

TOURNEY
This land is evanescent  -  as changeable
as a lark. The stallions cheer the buildings,
running from them as they fall. There is
no hesitation here, anywhere.
-
Call on I. M. Pei. Call on Frank Gehry.
Call on all the others.
They can all make things go.

6310. WE HAVE THE DISTANCE

WE HAVE THE DISTANCE
We could have moved to England a long time 
ago : Wordsworth, Swinging London, Tintern 
Abbey, Wales and the rest. Mary Quant and 
Carnaby Street. My Anglia would have driven 
us nicely over the heath. And then those
fearsome memories of the war stepped in.
-
'Which war?' I heard you say. It's the kind
of talk that passes for idle here. Now far
above us, in the black, dark night, those
stars are twinkling as they burn. Do they
burn? Are we burning out with them?
-
How distant are these distant skies?

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

6309. NOTHING WORSE THAN CRIME IN A MALL

NOTHING LESS THAN 
CRIME IN A MALL
'You always hurt the ones you love, but I never 
get the one I want. Good God, I'm walking 
carefully with this carbine. I want to join 
the Israeli Defense Forces too.
-
Look at all these windows, and this stupid
Food Court filled with people. I didn't want
this to get complicated. Wonder if I need a
corn dog? Should I just take down the
Apple Store and be done with it?
-
It's like 'suicide by police', they call it.
I know they'll shoot me dead  -  all I've
really got to do is burnish this unit, show
it around, shoot a little bit, and just step
forward when the police arrive. I know
they'll shoot me down.'

6308. NOBODY TALKS TO COWGIRLS ANYMORE

NOBODY TALKS TO
 COWGIRLS ANYMORE
Face it. Life is just too harsh. 
Is that a moment's pleasure 
you say you're offering to 
me? Come, let us reason
together.

6307. THIS NEW LIGHT CUTS ME HARSHLY

THIS NEW LIGHT 
CUTS ME HARSHLY
Every time the streetscape changes, someone else
is due  -  to say it's no longer any good, to declaim
on all the losses. Probably right, and sound by saying.
Man should stand up for what he believes.
-
I have no qualms with that, buddy. You make it
seem nostalgic, sitting here. The round-castle font
of my dreams makes reading them all so difficult
for me. I better grab another cup of coffee.

6306. I AM PRETTY MUCH I ADMIT

I AM PRETTY MUCH I ADMIT
Crazy. But it's all for my work. I inhabit
the same chair wherein William Blake once ate:
deeply-rich, hard to sit in, difficult to leave once
you're in. I will say this  -  it's not a hum-drum land
and every morning's a late new adventure. 
I wake up rich and screaming each day.

6305. A ROOMFUL OF MARKSMEN

A ROOMFUL OF MARKSMEN
Here we are once more : the deadening
hammer-blow of this late afternoon hits
harshly on the tabletop. I am reading a
Reverend Billy screed  -  some nutty
diatribe about the consensus of the
malformed and the 'greed of the
tweedy.' I think that means Wall
Street's in for new trouble.
-
If we keep following things this far, we
have to know this place is in trouble as well. 
People following the lion's-lead of another 
dumb-ass President in chains, and whistling 
back as his guys walk by. Even Condolezza Rice, 
I notice today in the New York Times, 
is bowing, and ten years out of date.
-
You want chains and slavery then? This is
the place that can give it to you. Most people
these days work for Government pay anyway.
It's a roomful of marksmen all aiming at my head.
-
I was once a boy in a blank and free land. That
went away the next morning, and I was forced 
into an idiot school led by idiotic, mannered adults :
the first raft of marksmen, before they all sank. 
-
'Yes, yes, father, I'm in the middle of it. I want to
go on, but my mind is twisted by the death and
the foul, all the things I see. Lucre and breasts,
lies and the obscene, nineteen tall people, taking
it mean. A roomful of marksmen again.'

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

6304. IN A MOMENT

IN A MOMENT
They are counting some string of
numbers backwards  -  like a
reverse quest of pi, they close
in on themselves, to a new
and reverse conclusion.

6303. RUNNING FOR THIS LIFE

RUNNING FOR THIS LIFE
Nietzsche's perfection is
unrepressed life : but wanting
eternity by wanting to die. 
Such 'eternity' envisages
mankind's liberation from
its neurotic obsession with
the present  -  the 'now'.
Now that I can understand.
-
The fish are at the window; 
my art is on the stand. As an 
easel taking in the scene it holds, 
I lend this bare support to 
the reality I perceive.

6302. LANDING ON THE MOON

LANDING ON THE MOON
This lander lands while that capsule
still spins on high. White dust flies,
light caught in a funny way on each
tiny speck  -  like a marvelous crystalization, 
blown all about. I'm ready to step this foot :
I go. Out. To not knowing where from
why'd I get here? Can I stand or will
this hold me? Should I get sucked
down, 'Goodye, Houston, Goodbye.'
-
One thing I notice, in this far and distant
sky - it's too late to turn back now.

6301. NATION AGAINST NATION, STATE AGAINST STATE

NATION AGAINST NATION, 
STATE AGAINST STATE
Here's the angst, Robert. It comes
and it goes. But this devil has a 
notion of staying around.
-
Fires on the main mound, 
smoke along the ridge. We 
proclaim each other sacred, 
jumping blindly off the bridge.

6300. I CAN SEE BY NOW

I CAN SEE BY NOW
The world is a misnomer, an illusion, a parade
that does not exist. If I live this far backwards 
within a place of mind, how long then do I
wish to live.? Outside of time, I stand in rubble:
17th Street brings me back, Gerardo's loft, the
old art stairs, the girl with the green eyes, 
the kid who wouldn't leave.
-
That kid was me : paintbrush bound and roped
in colors. The rooftop sensationa at the top of
8th Street, looking downtown as if some
Parisian arrondissement had my name. Place
by place, everything beckoned the kid who
wouldn't leave. That kid I was, stayed.
-
Now  -  at the juncture of Forever and Now,
I twirl a bit just to see back  -  quickly. I
note that my railings have all lost their
mountings, the screws have been torn from
the walls, and the bounding stairs, the
bounding stairs, down them I'm falling.

Monday, January 26, 2015

6299. PARSIMONY

PARSIMONY
('Take it back, scoundrel, don't bleed
me dry by your own stingy ways.
This is one time where I'll be giving
first. I hear the rabble rousing
itself already. Everything runs.
-
I'm coming through this life, and
I'll decide about it, not you. Too
much eyeshade distorts the eyes,
and you only see what you
see anyway.)'
-
Now now, little one, please : take
this stammering yap away from me;
bring me some water, and a newspaper
too  -  anything written with words.

6298. TRAIN VERSION

TRAIN VERSION
Clackety-clack, the train
wrestles the trestle. I, by
contrast, am bridging
nothing at all.

6297. SO NOW THIS IS REAL

SO NOW THIS IS REAL
Let it go, be this way, finding the maze :
I understand the me that no one cares about.
Playing chess with a God. Being check-mated
by embarrassed angels; a sentinel Michael with
his flaming sword. I'll sit until the fire burns down.
-
Chips at the casino, and those nearly naked girls in
the clubs, who wish to dance on stages of their lives,
I just let them go on. Pile up high, the everything.
Whisper for me to the very dangerous man  -
the bouncer who dreams of daffodils  -  
I too have met his type while leaving.
-
The guestbook has no names.
The big floor is empty.

Sunday, January 25, 2015

6296. HOLDING THIS PATTERN

HOLDING THIS PATTERN
So much of this is no longer a public
conversation : the secret hideaways 
and the patter of phones. My coloring
book is filled with lines, and over each
of them splashes of color run outside
those lines. It would seem a mess,
if a novice were to see.

6295. BROKEN KNUCKLES

BROKEN KNUCKLES
Horses past the fence, and an old, open
barn doorway. Wind passes through.
I am nothing, if not cold once more.

6294. WHAT CAME FIRST?

WHAT CAME FIRST?
What came first, the circle or the square? If I
have to ask, I should first beset the listener a 
with good observation : consider the mountaintop
view we are seeing from Bear Mountain Bridge  -  
do you not notice nature's organic hand and
muscular pull and tug? In Nature, nothing
squares itself and there really are no right
angles. That's a man-made thing, the
T-Square cut and jag. Nature just
simply doesn't do that.
-
Rounded things absorb the world, instead
of taking it over, as the angle'd square of
Mankind does, and trying to the run off, 
to abscond with all that Reality brings.
-
It's a sorry state, but  -  my pal, my
listener, my beautiful lady friend, let's
look at you (ahem)...please. Show me
the right angle on that beautiful
body of yours, should you be
able to find it.

6293. ASPECTS OF YOUR VISUAL EFFECT

ASPECTS OF YOUR 
VISUAL EFFECT
Now that the momentum has ceased, we can look
more clearly at the shadows thrown  -  everything
once amiss is now settled. Like a scratched line, heavy,
on a canvas of doubt, I can read the intention and
see the movement of the scurrying hand  -  everything
that once was meant. Your visual effects leave the
traces of you in every corner and nook. I want to 
go on reading, yet my sight is growing dim.
-
Voracious as I once in such reading may have been
now I am tired and slow to process  - yet  I will
not turn away, mon artiste, my friend  - I shall
keep on staring, to examine your mind and to
recognize your intent. Let time stop first,
and well before my own self does.


Saturday, January 24, 2015

6292. BOAT

BOAT
Quietly the boat rocks 
in the water. And I am 
drowning in paper.

6291. FORESTED MISNOMER

FORESTED MISNOMER
Take the cake walk, bring it back -  all
the shiny-stage stuff goes wanting. Singers
are singing, and some fat black, with swagger,
plays a trombone. All the people are loving
that Louie's sound.
-
I've got cards spread out  -  some old-fashioned
hand that no one can read. The 12th street locals
just stare  -  some little girl with ribbons, and
two old men  -  very tall and very thin. Let's
all keeping going, just this side of order.
-
One day after Wednesday, the calendar says,
the anarchy will break out : fresh-faced, like
piglets pink and newly running, children with
staves, warriors in tri-cornered hats. I want to
be there, when these saints go marching out.
My forested misnomer shall cover the land.

6290. WHEN CHARLES V'S TROOPS TOOK ROME

WHEN CHARLES V'S 
TROOPS TOOK ROME
(1572)
They called it a 'sack'  -  these guys just wanted
their pay. Jacknapping all the Swiss guardsmen 
on the Basilica stairs, blood ran, blood, blood,
a blood red as vestment.  Vatican goons 
without a second name. 

6289. ALL THE GREAT AND GLORIOUS EVERYWHERE

ALL THE GREAT AND 
GLORIOUS EVERYWHERE
Yes, yes, I want to codify everything that I see :
the worm knows best its wormhole, and, as was
put by someone somewhere  -  the world has 
a crack, where the light is let in.
-
Even this harbor is sinking into the ground : I have
the stories and I've heard all the tales. The two men
are hunched over cards and beer  -  their cigarettes
dangle from pathological lips. A dim glow, a barren
light. Let me sit, oh, let me sit as well.
-
When things get sad, the world devolved into
its own earthen brown  - a thin tan, better than
bad coffee, but thin and weak nonetheless  -  we
must arise from our graves and aspire? To
where our sunflower wishes to go?
-
The closet and the catalogue and the carton
and the casket  -  all things work together
here, and this forceful moment pushes its
life along. I am witness, left to tell, of
all the great and glorious everywhere.

6288. ROUSING THEM ANGELS

ROUSING THEM ANGELS
I'ts not too hard  -  bringing them forth from
dreams and prayers. The trouble is, then what
do you do? Listen only, or talk back too? You
know those guys who walk the street  -  shouting
and snapping and babbling to themselves. They're
better left alone  -  with, as Lincoln would have
put it, the 'better angels of their nature...'
And I just wish them well.


6287. OH GREAT GREY

OH GREAT GREY
As if this sky was talking to me, I looked up
at it hard  -  to see the great grey presence above.
Big dog on a short leash  -  my feelings sometimes
run that way : were I free and unleashed to be,
oh my, oh great grey me!

Friday, January 23, 2015

6286. FIVE ARMIES

FIVE ARMIES
Five armies have my heart and mind : Love
and Goodness, and Charity and Care, and
Concentration. All settled each, in their
distinctive chairs, they sit. It might not
sound like much but, for me, between 
them all sits one good life.
-
I've handled the shadows of doubt and
darkness, and left them in my wake.
Or at least, trying so hard so as
not to take any bad intentions
from this world I'm in.

6285. A HANGING ON CHESTNUT STREET

A HANGING ON 
CHESTNUT STREET
(philadelphia)
'Whyo Whyo GOODBYE HELLO :
I believe in Michelangelo, Velasquez,
Rembrandt, Blake and Picasso too and
I'm holding loose for something  -  some
kind of noose  -  for jumping, and I look 
at the branches I pass beneath and visualize
on each a rope and a neck and a man with a
knot, a rim-tied fragment of death annealing
and about to happen : and THERE! WHAM!
they kick the chair out from under him and
he's dangling quick and feet are shimmying 
all over and he's seeming to hold his breath
and one arm reaches up one great hand pulls
and grabs on the rope, a massive tug to relieve
the neck pressure and the other hand goes into
a pocket (this is all instant and swift in one long 
could-be-the-last breath) A MAN DEFEATING 
HIS OWN HANGING! and he flashes out quickly
a knife and flips open the big blade sharpened to
a hone-like-glass and I watch startled on Chestnut 
Street as that massive hand and arm deftly cut
through the rope (think as a coil, thick as it is)
and he fleetingly cuts himself down!! landing with
a thud on the ground as he quickly loosens the
rope knot and sits there stunned WHILE ALL THE
OTHERS HAVE FLED and I watch all this like as
a horrid dream and can never think of trees the same
again : 'for children at the gate who will not go away
and cannot pray, for those who chose and oppose, 
OH MY PEOPLE WHAT HAVE I DONE!!'

6284. WANDERING THIS PLACE AGAIN

WANDERING THIS 
PLACE AGAIN
Hill and dale, rivulet and stream. There's
those horrid sticker bushes again. Catch
my shirt one more time I'll scream.
-
By the high-side, all the dirt's fallen in and
now I can see that guy' shed. It was once all
hidden. Funny how time changes things.
-
Let me sit my silly ass down. I love these
big rocks when they're round. I can just
sit here, and watch the water go.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

6283. PUTTIN' MY THINGS AWAY

PUTTIN' MY 
THINGS AWAY
Archangels abound, but I'm
running aground. My Father
Pete disguise isn't working
at all, and all people seem
to want is Extreme Unction 
or Last Rites. What a racket!
-
There's a swelling behind my ear  -
it's enhanced my hearing, and now
I can hear butterflies sing, and 
woodpeckers talk, every sort
of thing, like that and more.
-
Just some wonderful derivations :
I'm no longer impatient for anything
at all, sit back and wait a lot, and  -
really, really really  - I just can't
wait for this globe to heat up
again. It's all so filled
with new promise.

6282. SO GIVE THEM THE WHOLE TOWN

SO GIVE THEM 
THE WHOLE TOWN
(a letter back to Robbie)
Let them have the takings, and the leavings too;
we'll bring back the weeds and daffodils and give
them some new sort of value. The rest can go
to their own tinny-Heaven, riding a cracker-barrell 
ice-box for all I care. I've been away so long 
it looks like nothing to me.
-
Jacob the Smithy is dead, and he's left his two
daughters behind. If there's an opportunity,
let me know what opens up. That sounds
like two obscene jokes to me, but I figure
you'll understand what I mean. 
-
The rail cars should enter town by noon,
and I'l most certainly exit from the
third rear car. Please be there
to meet me.

6281. MY LAST AND FINAL PROMISE

MY LAST AND 
FINAL PROMISE
To Hell with Blaise Cendrars; I am
living my Belgian life in mufti. A few
more Nazi freaks will be here any day.
Put the machine guns oin all the haystacks
and watch out for men in brown uniforms.
There is a fog now, just lifting over Berlin;
there is another fog coming down over
Manhattan. the 23rd Street roosters
are touting their goods : illicit
armaments, poisoned rations,
and  -  of course  -  bullets
where only earrings 
should be.

6280. NEW DRUGS

NEW DRUGS
I tried learning to
pray : and then I 
was dead, 
motherfucker.

6279. MY BRIEF SOLILOQUY

MY BRIEF SOLILOQUY
Just a few, just a few, I'm standing here,
one of two. In my pockets, I hustle another 
stain, only to realize I'm sickened by the
death of another member. The cavalier
rifleman glances over, and slowly, so
slowly, the applause starts spreading.
-
I look away, into the shade the stage curtain
throws, and try finding a set of eyes that do
not move. Only there, only there would I
find my soulmate; the one who listens and
knows. Now, my well-used songbooks
are all caked with blood. The mad
mob is moving again.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

6279. HAMSTRUNG

HAMSTRUNG
In Nature. In Nature nothing
lasts forever : well, not quite
anyway. I guess even the redwoods 
fall after awhile, just too tired
to keep on standing.

6278. DIGRESSION

DIGRESSION
Twenty ages past, the legerdemain
of illustrious farce first too the stage -
Charlemagne Pontificus Flautus Honorus
Bellissimus Montague Capulet and
Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern too.
Got it back? Understand that Jack?
-
Otherwise what solace is grieving?
A lace curtain artifice  -  and you won't
be the first person sickened by human 
behavior, and the artifice is all our own.
The world  -  the entire world  -  keeps
on forgetting its digression.

6277. ZOE

ZOE
And Zoe, there's no putting this
down  -  all the factuals will
need to speak for themselves  -
only talismans need apply. 
My startled lineman are all.
-
I am writing a portrait, here,
against this wall, where the
raindrops sit and the lines of
every pencil-point arrive.
They enter one by one, and sit.
-
And Zoe, there's no putting this
any better : I may sit alone, but
I'm sitting with you. My teapot
steams. My coffee cup is drained.
Every word that was ever spoken,
every written instance of intentions
meant (and there have been quite
a few), they have all come
here now, to roost.

6276. LIKE (five guys from forever)

LIKE
(five guys from forever)
Like no run in this running
ever before, and this road goes
forth, turning mountains. Five guys
from forever are riding their own
invisible rails. Atchison, Topeka
and Santa Fe indeed.
-
Like they pull into Sacramento dented,
the fat Hudson Hornet they've driven
like some Cadillac Packard steambull
thrives while it huffs and puffs its only
breakdown cauldron and every sleeve
is ended. Tattered. Torn.
-
Zone this still-life out of bounds
and jagged and now enraged. 
Like one tumescent blunder, just
waiting for the cyclone cyst to
burst, and the little girl to love
is waiting on the bed.

6275. A BRUTALITY THAT IS NOT ART

A BRUTALITY 
THAT IS NOT ART
Here : they are long dead now. They
died young  -  drowned in  the mud of
Ypres or disemboweled in Verdun.
What is the dreadful noise they made?
Brutality like this is not art.
-
Only Woodrow Wilson and Colonel House
know any of that, and they're not talking.
No, no, didn't anyone tell you, he's had a
stroke and cannot any longer talk. 
They're not talking at all

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

6274. ANKLE DEEP IN KNEES

ANKLE DEEP IN KNEES
Or, if you prefer, I'd be knee deep in ankles.
Either way, the flip-flop is what counts.
I have sunshades for my blindness and
all my eyeglasses are rainbow tinted.
I butter my bread on both sides for
the goodness it brings back to me.
The startled starling 
stares to the sky.

6273. DWARFMAN'S REPEATING DREAM

DWARFMAN'S 
REPEATING  DREAM
So that then becomes the problem which wasn't
the problem to begin with, but that's how things
develop, don't they always? Oh, man. And remember,
it's 12:20 at night and in the bleak, hot darkness two
motorcycles pull up bleating outside the house.
Two guys are outside yelling 'come on outside 
and see my new motorcycle!' And there they were,
both sitting, waiting  -  and the loud snap of straight
pipes and motor-engine-idle covers the street staccato,
like gunshot, and the one big guy, the huge, fat joyous
one, stays seated on his motorcycle while the other big,
tall and blond guy gets off standing next to his new
motorcycle and someone else is looking at it just as
I too am, looking, witnessing the entire scene, thinking
back to anything before anything, and it all therefore
seems senseless and all without weight but loaded anyway,
and I try to move away but realize maybe I'm dreaming
and I hear the two of them laughing just as loudly over
any of the other noises and I can go nowhere because
(just like in a dream) I am essentially nowhere and I start
in the same way to think of women's names arrayed and
listed and all in a row : Lydia, Linda, Sarah, Jill, Mary, 
Ellen, Lisa, Dawn, Donna, Kathy, Margaret, Sue  -  and 
I settle onto the fact that it  -  like the bible  -  is a probably
endless list and so it can go on and it does and I've so many
things to do but am shackled by something which is 
keeping me here but that something is unidentified
 by day and night by any form of light.