6363. THUMBNAIL SKETCH

THUMBNAIL SKETCH

My friend Aleck has a middle name of 'No' ;

the guy I drive cross-country with, he's an 

ex-con from from Topeka. We're leaving

from Brooklyn now and have nowhere else

to go. He's had the TV on for two hours :

Morning Joe and Larry King.

-

It'll take us five hours to get to Canton, PA.

There we'll stop for coffee. He'll eat; I won't.

There's very little else to do, endless driving

and all. Tress and hills race by the window.

-

We left from the old Brooklyn Navy Yard.

It's not that now, just a bunch of artisan types,

making mugs and pottery, small paintings

and jewelry; teas and coffee, sold and stacked.

6362. MIZ LILIENTHAL

MIZ LILIENTHAL

I have seen the water overflowing its banks and the lines

on the outside shed-walls telling of mud and how high the

river rose. I have seen where the cows were taken in from

Canal Road under threat of drowning. A real little-Calcutta,

right here. The fence was twisted and turned by the force.

-

I've kept silent in such a deluge before  -  things floating

by me, real things : the buried Elmira dead, in 1972;

Hurricane Agnes unearthing the dead in their floating

coffins; the kid who was killed on the island in the

Chemung. Houses and barns the just crumbled.

-

Living on this land is no picnic for sure : window-glass

breaks in the wind; is there a connection with the name?

Tom Faulkert's silo went down; corn silage and junk

everywhere. Cattle braying, geese on alert;

the cattle braying, and the geese on alert.

6361. SULLEN MEN ARE DINING

SULLEN MEN ARE DINING

Business is sweet : 'two coins in the fountain' :

and the fellow with the wine list stands straight

at their table. The quiet sound of that old music

is overhead. They gesticulate to each other what

best goes with lunch. The waiter stands straight

at their table. 'Three coins in the fountain, each

one seeking happiness.' The selection is over.

-

'Three hearts in the fountain'. I want to get

alongside them and push this scene along -

they've squandered time, and they don't even

realize it. 'Each one longing for its home.'

-

What is it all, that I have outlived by now?

Warfare and idol worship? Why, no, sir.

Decadence and despair? Why no, sir.

These two fey goons, dreaming of

all they have? Why no, sir.

'Which one will the

fountain bless?'

-

The waiter is back at their table.

6360. REDSTONE

REDSTONE

St. Michael on the corner, Redd Foxx in

the doorway; it's the time of bells and whistles.

The very old calendar still hanging on the

workshop wall reads back some twenty 

years. I guess it's been that long since 

we've energized the tractor.

-

At daybreak, the count of the frozen dead

was twelve. At six below and with the

wind it doesn't take long at all. Alcohol

covets the system, like hunger hammers

the mind. These men became possessed

by their own fixations.

6359. LEGIONAIRE

LEGIONAIRE

From all the rolls of the departed they

have excised your name. That is where

I first realized the difference between

'he thought of you a lot' and 'he thought

a lot of you'. That was the difference

and I'd never realized it before.

-

All and long over these mountains, people

of all ages have made paths and marks and

places between, whereon they trod. Some of

that I still see  -  Pennsylvania is a diffident

place; all those lies of The Walking Purchase,

and no one really willing to talk of it.

-

The locals couldn't figure out a thing : those

sons of William Penn, insincere tricksters

hiring runners to do their dirty work while

the Indians kept walking. What a mess was 

that? Everything shimmied down.

6358. MY FIBONACCI NUMBERS

MY FIBONACCI NUMBERS

(the keys and the locket)

I buried them under the dirt, a few feet

down, next to the stalwart fiber. A place

for lizards and frogs, perhaps. It's just

a swampy moraine, a glacial hole they

can't believe in enough to build on. 

Five stories up, on the other side of

the street, the little Spanish family

fights words between themselves :

something over something, issues

between women and men. The

universal day of infamy rolls on.

6357. EX POST SEASON

EX POST SEASON

I don't have a moment, nor do I have a

phone. Extolling a merchant's goods must

be done in person. Come over here, little

lady, let me do my job. Just this must this

just thus this is. Understand me? My

father was the sparring partner for

Gentino Fabricone.

-

The big Hungarian lady in the arena seat

was loudly yelling, 'Put him in a coma,

make his ears start bleeding.' Jesus lady,

it's only a spar, a practice run for another

death, now shut it the fuck up. I was

a young kid, yeah, but even I had

my limits. Long ago, anyway.

6356. FOR ALL THE TEA IN CHINA

FOR ALL THE TEA IN CHINA

There's a woman's voice in shadows saying

something about money. I'd give it away if

I had it. Why be circumspect? And what's it for?

The eyeglass peers from the heavens, looking

straight down at me. Piercing another gaze,

I lift my head to a fracture.

6355. HASTEN TO THIS

HASTEN TO THIS

Glass balls in a blue vase : the table

has four legs. Hidalgo is the man  -

over there  -  with the very well-trimmed

beard. He drinks a drink the color of jade.

-

A couple of legends haunt this place : 

John Barrymore, it is said, signed a contract

here, Debbie Harry and Chris Stein used to 

come in together, John Lennon parked his 

Rolls right by that doorway. Tom Waits

lived here forever. The Tropicana in el lay.

-

No, I never cared much for that stuff. 

This is where the plane set down. 

I rented a car. 

Here I am.

6354. FREEZE-FRAME

FREEZE-FRAME

Now you've gone and done it,

freeze-frame, taking cartoon

snippets from the edge of the

outer walk where the ice is piled

high and the snow is still blowing

after the wind long has gone.

I don't understand any of this

I never did want to, I was just here.

Parking is free, most of the time

anyway  -  the lights come on at

dusk, allowing you to see things,

more than once, again, over,

again, over.

6353. IT'S THE END OF MY FACE

IT'S THE END OF MY FACE

This jawline like a landscape this 

rubble like a rock : I walk with 

big feet on the face of a jumpy 

moon  -  leaping in place, and staying.

Once this was all a fairy tale, a 

marginal endeavor, a dream. Now 

they pay me off in rubles no one wants.

Anyway, minding a minute for an hour

or two is not so bad. They've found I 

favor St. Augustine's City of God, so

that's all they allow me to read. And

read I do  -  pages for hours a day.

6352. TWIN ARMS HAVE YOU?

TWIN ARMS HAVE YOU?

I am not a saint. Well, yet. Then, I

imagine I can wait  -  raspberry plumcake,

luminescent battalions, a few cops outside

the door. I pay them off, a few hundred bucks

to watch and act as guards outside. Justice is

as crooked as any puzzle piece can be.

-

Here's how it went : I shot the Chairman, I shot

the President, I took the Chief Judge's daughter

away. They tried building a new highway right

over my gravesite. Money ran out and they stopped.

-

I rode a Bluebird Bus to Easton. It stayed on the

old Route 22. As soon as we pulled into the

Easton Hotel, I was flabbergasted, right off, when

I realized what went on : over and over, week after

week. Girls would work a week in New York City, 

whoring  -  they told me it was 'very nice money' and

they were well taken care of  -  and then they'd get four 

days in Easton, cost-free, for rest and recuperation.

I found that to be a lie  -  not a one of them stopped

for a minute what they were so good at doing.

-

Then they'd take another bus back to New York, and it

all went on again. Any number of old, cigarette-bum

guys just stuck around the hotel lobby. All the time.

Playing cards, smoking with a drink. Having donuts

brought in by the box. I learned so much. I learned

so much. I kept the ledger-logbook for myself to

which I still refer to this very day for notes and 

names and things to remember.

6351. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?

WHAT THE HELL IS

WRONG WITH 

YOU PEOPLE?

Aligning the edges of the paper with the edge of the

end of the world, yeah, that makes so much sense to me.

Why do we listen, why must we? What forces this 

hammer into our skulls. Do you have a position here?

-

I'm forced into situations of my own making? I'd

rather think not. Stand aside, move out of my way.

6350. BINARY POLAR

BINARY POLAR

All it means is the world doesn't know

anything until we tell it : universal time

and constant revolution, the spinning of

orbs and planets. To paraphrase one henry

Ford...'bunk.' Just enough to say. Bunk.

As if we were not here before; as if that

before wasn't still a 'now'; and is if all

those 'nows' weren't yet being lived,

all here, all times, together as one.

-

Life is a Unity.

There's only one thing.

A vast, vast, happening 'Now'.

6349. AS IT IS, THERE'S A CHURCH

AS IT IS, THERE'S A CHURCH

As it is, there's a church on this corner

that still baffles my brain  -  its rigid 

windows and locked front doors try 

to welcome nothing. Out front, the 

most humble corner bronze you'll

ever see is situated.

-

If it were mine, this statuary, I'd not

know where to put it : a kitchen shrine

to the Goddess of Grain, some Ceres

for the cereal aisle, a puffed-wheat brain

for an Alpha-Bits world? A lounge-chair

companion for one hundred long 

and sleepy nights?

-

As it goes, instead, here, a taxi's splash

blows by, the grime of a bus just missing

the corner, two gents fighting over where

to park. Some ladies in hats are passing;

all in favor, say 'Aye', all opposed say 'Nay'.

6348. SOFT-SHOULDERED AS ANY ROAD

AS SOFT SHOULDERED 

AS ANY ROAD

It's genuine and it's authentic, this mantled

green of an Earth-like planet. Along with us

we've brought, well, two of everything, how's

that. I am flooded with memories, anyway.

-

What do you want to call me? Here, I can be

most anything : a new Noah bringing my own

new cart of a new evolution or an very old

prophet rehashing old tales and telling where

I might have missed. Doing things over  -  again  -

before some crazy God's wrath hits again.

-

You can marvel at this field of aces I put out

for the game : the muscled guy with three arms,

the brute who can crush balls and bats, the

lumberjack-looking funster who eats children

for sport  -  they're all there, and this time around

every one of them means business not just fun.

-

The old tales of our owl Earth; yes, you'll still

hear them, but they'll have lost all moment. 

New references. New times. New meanings.

6347. THE BLUES OF A GREEN MOUNTAIN MAN

THE BLUES OF A 

GREEN MOUNTAIN MAN

All those Vermont people I keep forgetting, with their

barns and rambling house perched on wooded hills  -

I never want to forget again. It's all too valuable

for listening. Married lucky, most of them did, those

outsiders who awake the next day and realize they've

 got a house now, their wife's dear-family's place,

in those distant, tall and very green mountains.

It happens that way for females too, I guess, just

in the opposite direction. Nice too. Then, don't

forget, there are the locals  -  the poor ones who

feel stuck instead of lucky. Poor enough to be 

scrounging for wood with which to heat and food 

with to eat. Their broken-down cars can't move

because they're broken down in the yard and out

of gas as well. Money's tough, and instead of a

Paradise this can feel like a Hell. And I know that

myself  -  been there already. The ground's about

rocky enough too, maybe for geology, to have a

great big party; and those dairy cows keep hungry

all long Winter long. I don't know how to escape that

nor what to do about it. Hate to see them sorry  -  baying

and mooing and cowing all the time. 'It's enough to drive

me crazy. And I've got left left as blankets even for with 

which to sleep : hungry's OK, and cold's OK, if they're 

one at a time. But taken together, they're 'less than great',

and I'm going easy on that one, for the sake of the tourist

guides and the little books that talk about pleasant travel.

-

I had a friend once  -  he's dead now  -  I remember him 

one day saying, towards a dog there running free -

"I'm so cold I could eat that dog." I never knew what  

he meant but figured he meant he was so 'hungry' he

could eat that dog. I finally once asked him  -  'what are

you supposed to mean by saying that? Do you mean

'hungry' instead?" He said back "No, that's the obvious one,

of course I'm hungry enough to eat the dog, yeah, but cold

enough says it better, because once you're full and not hungry.

your body starts generating heat as it begins to digest. You see?

It's a double-deal, and it's good both way  -  hungry AND warm."

Them Green Mountain blues sure are a song...

6346. APPROACHING MT. EPHRAIM

APPROACHING 

MT. EPHRAIM

Here are the clouds, wily-nily, and there

is the sky. Everyone's so much older   -  the

men have all aged : that thickness of face 

having long ago set in, and a few pounds too

I'd guess. Youthfulness was once a wonderful

thing. Now, it fleets as a passing moment in

mind; a regrettable thing. Like telling your

first girlfriend 'I remember when your

breasts were just buds.'

6345. FARCICAL ME

FARCICAL ME

Blue serge suit, I lost my youth, dead on the

shoreline where the awkward gulls gawk. Fog

on the water, dense like a ship, heavy with heave

yet afloat - fading away in the mist, and no one

says another word. The silence, never fleeting

before, now sticks like glue to every crevice.

I'm pleasant enough to laugh at everything.

'You're almost smiling again,' someone

once had said to me. Almost, to

smile again.

6344. CLIMB THIS HILL

CLIMB THIS HILL

It was a small town we entered at will :

there was a soda-counter where we sat.

An old nothing, a coal-mining place, black

with lung and festered. A small graveyard

too small to be big, and too big to be crowded.

Yet it was, with men and their names.

He spoke to the blackened air : no names

were left to talk back. Death. Death,

And the air. Let's climb this hill

out of here.

6343. WITHOUT RECOMPENSE

WITHOUT RECOMPENSE

I am sniveling here, and without a snorkel

underwater. 'Tom, Tom, did you have a

fight?' It's a plain boat on rococo waters.

-

There's nothing I can do  -  they've stolen

all my goods and taken all my means. This

cabinet, once filled with riches, is now

quite empty.

-

I didn't have any new time on my hand, so

couldn't fight back either, and wouldn't have

anyway. 'So why did they do this?' I never

really knew. I never found out. A plain

boy, on rococo waters.

6342. I LENT FOR MODIFICATION

I LENT FOR MODIFICATION

I was the giveaway guy in the kissing booth;

if you went to the fair you'd remember. I kept

a rag nearby, as they told me to wipe my mouth

between kisses : never did, it was all too delicious.

6341. THE WAY YOU BEND TIME

THE WAY YOU BEND TIME

I disappear behind image, to see

there is nothing there. All those 

lies have made see. The round

lid of the server is still on the

counter. Something smokes

in the cup you hold.

-

I cannot see through my fuzzy eyes -

silhouettes and shadows. Moving

pictures of a moving mind. The

clock over the mantle ticks on,

its voice a shudder of time.

6340. I GOT TO ALONE

I GOT TO ALONE

(two Cranes)
I got to alone in my Hell and this is what

I was doing :  like a card-shark from another

Detroit, like a man singing tunes at Captial 

Records Studio in the City of Angels, like

a self-inflicted wound in the hospital of time;

just waiting. Moonstruck. Appalachian Spring.

Hart Crane. Bedloe's Island and Potter's Field.

The wellspring from which all other things come.

-

I carried the body in the trunk of a car, right into

Elizabeth New Jersey  -  ghost city, dead junk,

blistered town of Mexican haunts and all the

little men in their baggy pants. Come to me,

all you who hunger and thirst. Steven Crane 

is resting here. All the names the same  -  

but changed to protect the innocent.

-

Let me say this again : for the very first time.

I got to alone in my Hell. I reached it in my prime.

6339. AARDVARK

AARDVARK

So many sick men in one place : oxygen and

hospital pans. Looking for shadows; under

a rock. I parked my Lincoln in the shade of 

that tree. I brought full negligence to bear.

-

Sister Helen, girl in the clouds, man in the

sky, all the people I've loved  -  I 

extend my final hand to you.

6338. PIERESAL

PIERESAL

It was the name that beckoned more than anything;

like fine glass, or a chiseled, well-sculpted piece.

I sat at the last table to its right and just studied.

Small figures, in shadow, passed by.

-

Do we understand the intentions of the creative

hand? Did I understand this magical piece?

6337. NOTWITHSTANDING ALL THE DOUBTS

NOTWITHSTANDING 

ALL THE DOUBTS

I rolled the hedger to the shoreline and cast a furtive

eye : nothing intermingles doubt and stealth together

as well as does a secret motive. Mine was to catch

the fleeing Mocassin. The Frenchman who'd been

sent to these shores to kill me. Him, I had to elude,

whatever the tongue and nation. But I had him

here, I knew, to kill him first. And he knew, I knew,

that I was here already. What was French for

'cat and mouse' I did not know.

-

Take the thunder road from the swamp down at

the wharf, and follow it quickly up  -  it will take

you to a grove of dark and heavy trees. When

you find the cabin-shelter there, knock and

enter, but be sure to say 'Hanson' first, be sure.

-

There aren't too many ways of getting out of this.

I could kill myself, I guess, yes, but better yet

to just kill him first. If I need to write the story

up, I can do that later  -  after I've disposed

of his lifeless, stinking body. Beneath a tree,

deep; or in a river. I'll see then.

-

It's always a long story  -  both how things

happen, and how we manage to survive

the happening. Believe me, as a modern

man, this involved a bag of gold and a

beautiful woman  -  unfortunately both

his. I have the gold yet, yes, and I have

the sweetest memory.

6336. THAT LONG-STANDING ROD OF LOVE

THAT LONG-STANDING 

ROD OF LOVE

Heavens! Someone has just connected Valentine's Day

to this : my email spam of a million Viagras. 'She'll

love you forever with this offer! Don't miss our

Valentine's Sale.' And to think, there was a time

when it was just hearts and flowers and candy.

And once, long before that, those fifth grade

heart-shaped cards and the little mysteries

of 'I wonder who gave me that!' Now

it's all so different; like 'this is 

medicated to the one I love.'

6335. THE SILLINESS OF EVAPORATION

THE SILLINESS 

OF EVAPORATION

Take a walk with me we are walking free this is

another street in another place to be. In the air,

the madman shuffle is taking place a million

miles an hour. We are relative to all that we see.

The speed of light is in my pocket, and I ride

the edge of that light-speed cloud  -  looking

straight out everything is still. Any faster,

I will be entering the past.

-

The silliness of evaporation is all the world can

tell to me  - changeability and alteration; how things

first are this and then they're that. No motive to the

meanings, and still the idiots ply : their advertising

skills to nothing, their sucking the dick of lucre,

licking the tit of meaninglessness.

6334. WHERE IS MY POSITION?

WHERE IS MY POSITION?

This is very fortunate  -  from Kennedy to

Hammerstein, all the immigrant names that

have taken over. Where is my position?

Oh, these are the days of what-once-was,

Tammany and the rest. 'Many are thrilled, but

few are frozen,' that's our motto  -  we take care

of everyone's need. Make this life one good thing.

Where is my position?

6333. PULL ME OUT OF THE WELL

PULL ME OUT OF THE WELL

I landed in Ireland on the back of a lamb; 

looking out from a skirted tree : myths and

stories from Lindisfarne were calling. I'd

made mention to myself to stay until I

knew all of them. Every word to Wales.

-

Now my heart is in tatters and the bottom

of my feet are sore. My nose won't stop

running and I've been on this road too 

long. Brother, brother, can you spare 

me some food?

6332. LEMONADE SOMETHING

LEMONADE SOMETHING

Lemonade something in a lemonade setting :

trees and palms and pools. Makes me think

of Summers I never had. Working too hard

on the railroad. Like fools we go about our 

tasks, cursing everything we load.

6331. HOW DO I CARRY

HOW DO I CARRY

How do I carry all these things you may ask me  -  

first off, there is nothing strapped down and it's 

all in playful array. That which I lose it that which

I may. I don't take anything too serious. The last lit

coal in my night-rider's kit, well, once that goes

out or gets lost, perhaps then I'll have trouble.

-

I notice the Army/Navy store is have a closing sale.

It's not that  -  even they  -  can't make up their mind,

it's just rather the difference between two competing

forces and which you want to be : I want to live, I 

want to die; I want to read, I want to write. 

Plant, sew; reap, harvest. Give me a

chance at something.

-

I had a nightmare just the other day. When I awoke

from something, you know, the guy was there with

the ring-case calling me, but it wasn't really him and

it wasn't really me. Is anyone interested? You know

how baffling these silly dreams can be. And the

the horseman rode up, but he was riding in a

pail. Is that curious too? Or maybe, remember,

Albert Pinkham Ryder's painting,

'Death on a Pale Horse.

-

How do I carry?

6330. MY PENCIL'D BACK

MY PENCIL'D BACK

'Those aren't whiplashes, you idiot, they

just look like that  -  they're really marks

from a pencil. The Spirit writes on me at 

night  -  the words enter my soul, and I

understand them upon awakening. Before 

that, nothing will do. I understand the

alignment at dawn. Lance and spike and

spear : weapons of a convincing yet very

basic means. No splitting the atom here

or mushroom clouds. Do you see any

difference between that and the man

with his head split wide open?

6329. AS YET UNSEEN

AS YET UNSEEN

In the dark of the night I get up and get dressed,

so as to leave before dawn and find that old portal

to things which no longer exist. I take the horse

trolley to Chambers Street, where driver Anton

lets me off. Eduardo gives me a beer, even before

light, at the temple of Divine Infusions, where I sit

a bit. To linger too long is an idle life, so I watch

myself with care. There are only a few coal-scuttlers

still tripping around, and a lady with a very soiled

apron. The light just now begins on a very cold

morning, wherein the whistling white clouds come

slowly o'er a pinkish horizon. I really know

nothing, and want to know less. Be still and

just be, my spirit guide says, let it all

fall around you in peace. 

6328. I SNAPPED THE NECK OF MISERY

I SNAPPED THE 

NECK OF MISERY

Charmed as I am by all those brute things, I love

just as much to watch the rain come down in buckets.

A few birds linger, wondering enough to look back.

In a few hours time, the rolling clouds, fraught and

heavy with opinion, will break apart and dissipate,

with little left but nothing. That's what happens when

you are but cloud and vapor. Find solid mass instead.

6327. IN AND OUT OF A BLUE-CARPET ROOM

IN AND OUT OF A 

BLUE-CARPET ROOM

And then so : I am with Veronica Mainetti

at 60 White Street, NYC.  She re-develops

project-buildings nicely. 'I think of myself

as a canary in a coal mine,' she says. What

she means by that, I finally ascertain, is that

her own body is sensitive, like allergy-sensitive,

to irritants and chemicals and compounds. So,

when these negatives are present in a building,

her body's reaction tells her. As she then

re-develops, like here at 60 White, her work

and specifications make sure these things are

not present any longer. Her body tells her.

-

She wants the materials to follow her own

belief systems  -   no heavy-handed finishes.

-

'To me,' I tell her, 'any space is a collection of 

beliefs. Not money or profit or gain. First I ask

myself  -  'is this really there?'  -  meaning has this

place attained its rank of promise just by being?

An achieved validity that can never go away.'

6326. WHY MUST WE DIE?

WHY MUST WE DIE?

The whole symphony went down in flames  

-  the orchestra and all. I'd written it in fire, 

and it burned itself out. Why must we die?

-

This building I was in, it sunk down in the

mud  -  tenth floor windows and thick mud

up to my neck. Why then must we die?

-

Can any monkey tell me? Can I find a parson

or a rabbi steed to impart back to me what

I should already know - Why must we die?

-

I asked my zen friend Ken; he told me we

are already dead so what's the difference?

It wasn't that I said. Why must we die?

-

I looked into a glass globe someone had

left upon the table. Pretty object, nice

try  :  why then must we die?

6325. TAKING THIS IN STRIDE

TAKING THIS IN STRIDE

I walk along Franklin Boulevard; I am

looking for the site of the Hall-Mills murder

once again. I found it, but it's all gone. The

torrid bell toll I hear on the hill is from

another silly church  -  church or school,

the institutions have taken everything over.

-

There is a man  pounding a pedal on a bicycle.

He works intently on whatever it is he is doing.

6324. SKATE THIS BOARD

SKATE THIS BOARD

The marvelous manner by which

she holds her cape. The slow bend

of the arch as it rounds out complete.

-

People walk the skyline here, itent

to broadcast their fates alive : a wrapper

from a sandwich, the paper cup of coffee.

-

A Japanese man is contending with the wind.

He wants to somehow catch it with his camera,

and photograph, what he calls, 'American wind',

and laughs agains, 'American wind.'

6323. I'M GOING TOMORROW TO EDEN

I'M GOING TOMORROW 

TO EDEN

There's a scene in a movie of Faustus where

the Devil plays cards with a man  -  and both

end up losing. The Devil can no longer reason,

and the man finds out he's a clown. Then the

trees open up with their growth of possibility.

-

It's as if the universe gets a fresh beginning and

people walk again within some Garden; or the

idea of if not the place. The last time birds

could talk, I had a lengthy conversation.

-

Illusions are ten deep. Assumptions are twenty.

The world is a warm wind, blowing through

our minds to make images of what we are.

6322. ALL THOSE WEDGEWOOD FACES

ALL THOSE 

WEDGEWOOD FACES

Elegantly proportioned and as if frozen in

blue time  -  all those stately poses and courtly

miens. It wears me out in toto. Pottery and clay,

the sensated combination of fire and glaze. Ideas

like this only come down from a Heaven once.

-

Percy Bysshe Shelly? John Keats? Grecian urns?

All that jumbled marmalade of contingent words and

superior and poetic clauses : yes, you'd think that  -

between that and marble  -  there's enough range to

drive any reader crazy and any school kid dense.

-

I have my butterfly net instead, and with it I

capture the air of those around me breathing  -

their oaths and curses, fucks and rages, things

and dealings, down and dirty or clean and bright.

My mix, I guarantee, will keep you up at night.

6321. PAINTED WITH MIRACLES

PAINTED WITH MIRACLES

The hand of the maker still juggles ideas :

forms and shapes, though fixed, are turning.

High and distant skylights beaming down

remind me of ten thousand places.

-

A small man is bending a reed  -  outside the

peppermint shop on the Chinese corner. Five

taxis, piled up in their orgy, await fares who

are yelling and reaching. This world is an

abstract moment in a fixed still-life.

-

I am standing on the corner where, it says

'Washington was entertained, with his troops,

at the Bull's Head Inn, at the corner

of Bowery and Canal.'