SID NOT NOW
Pick up the paper from where you are sitting :
put the pencils down. Nightfall is nigh, and
neither am I. Or, well, you know what I mean.
-
Sid, not now. I may be drunk again : enough
to know I do not drink, and enough to know
the unvarnished edges can grate like equally
unvarnished truth. I don't know what I mean.
-
I try to remember 'The Changing Light At
Sandover', that huge James Merrill piece written
with the Ouija Board. What was that, and what
was he thinking, and who can read that early
1960's stuff now and survive? It's library junk,
and nothing more.
-
It's talk-circle chat, it's book-group drivel, it's
poetry workshop discussion period masturbation,
that's what it is. Yeah, yeah, that's what it is.
-
Sid, not now I said. I've told you before, the cat
doesn't like anything around her neck, and the
dog only eats biscuits if they're soaked in coffee.
Yes! I said, soaked in coffee.
-
Now, again, where were we? Put down the
paper, and talk, goddammit, talk.
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