xy

live, then, w wife,  midlife

crisis &

 

god knows what but doesn’t care &

i don’t.

 

the philosophy’s good – pushed hard but

good.

 

more fact than truth;

useless

 

but good.

thinking is my enemy, & drinking;

 

friends, venereal abstinence;

inflexible morals; health is

 

The Most Important Thing

tho & thanksgiving. all these things

 

i love & have loved

for ambivalent reasons.

 

king, i’m stitched on this

counterpane, crowned & trim,

 

fair in this light, caught

in the flash

 

of an eye. lie w.

tear the grass ‘neath the shade

 

of a birch, lovers of nature; come

as the news reader delivers,

 

holds my

gaze, straight face; i

 

flush, most excellent have i striven

for the right

 

superlative, the best

& may these platitudes

 

live long- these Nancitudes [Orwell] live long in tight

pants, long scarves & loose billowings

that maketh. there’s

 

coin for the early bird, reward

for thee if thou

canst stands it.

 

when you grit

yr teeth, that

prominent jawbone shows

 

restraint, desire

mastered. me &

 

god go way

back; distant

 

cousins merely,

still.

 

nothing to give i have at this

juncture. but you’re different. i mean

 

to make exception, w/out

suggesting i mean anything at all.

 

poetry is the shortcut to the emotions

– mysteries w/out footnotes.

 

hit me quick.

 

what’s more important – art or shelter?

could Tom Tit the fuck wit roofer

be more vital than Van Gough

or WH Auden?

 

are these, again,

incommensurate?

 

find out the answer to this & other questions.

i’m going to write a book about it.

 

it will be pompous, but visceral.

rules will be

 

broken; meta-biographical, w

everything but

 

what is even if

abstraction;

 

beautiful –

for want of.

 

verse for the mathematician;

the hair sways & the shoulder blade

 

– she strikes euclidean lines,

arabic numerals.

 

listen: the susurrus

give of pillows; bend a bit

& i’ll tell you what i reckon.

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