Date: January 5
my letters & your answers, having risen out of obscurity
like a column of air in the larynx, now sleep
folded in a book of poetry, some phantom
no less than human flesh
but beside it, as beside your glans the reddest flower
would look as gray as asphalt.
Its the book I open now, my
fingers blackened by our consonants, the present
devoured by our past, though I do think its funny
you asked me to send you
the camellia is more like what I am
& didnt you say you wanted me, do I have to make you
promise not to forget
we took our clothes off? Wake up your hands
my love, you are hard
to love. As hard, at least, as this pillow.
I want to tell you something. Well, any-
thing, just so long its particular, & real. Descriptions
of burnt matches in the cherrywood incense boat, banal
pan across the tiny landscape of my nighttable
orange paperback copy of Brownings Aurora Leigh
mostly empty bottle of Brooklyn Brown Ale, its gold & chocolate
label peeled off, wedge of half-eaten bagel in paper wrapper
your letters, photos & poems on the rug beside the bed
grains of sand, glass & paper bits everywhere
my cream colored phone, its cord trailing off into the other room
where Chris plays George Harrisons "Dark Horse"
O its abysmal but Ill suffer it knowing its temporary
lifes temporary too if you look at it like that
I prefer not to, I guess, like how I prefer
companionship, long romance, someone in particular to see
not merely memory.
Memory has nowhere to go. & how long
can I pour my heart out
while my hands shake, I know this is just a poem, but why
wont you say anything, tonight I feel
swindled by words, like all our kisses replaced by my fist.
I want what I write to make you wet between your legs.
I dont want to scour the dictionary
to find it. I want you here
in this poem, like the Indian on the American Spirit pack
like Elizabeth on the cover of her book
I am 36 years old, my wife who I loved because I didnt yet love
you, wont call me back. I want her to call me
so I can tell her I love you. "No one is ever innocent," "Those
who dont feel pain never believe its felt," do you
want me to stop quoting? I cant
look out the window from where Im sitting. I can
reach the Mezcal B brought me back from Mexico
I can see the collage poem C sent me when I left her
for you, I can line up all the photographs of you
on the filthy rug & beat off, but my hands are cold & dry
itd be barely tolerable & would go by too fast
& when it was over Id still be here & youd be there
"in my head
& on my page"
but what would I do with my cum-filled hand, not to mention
all my inexhaustible fears?
A gust of wind sets off a car alarm
4 stories below on 6th Avenue, luck is
always for tomorrow, luck is for voyagers, & all the grass
in front of us. Everyone reading this poem will roll their eyes
What am I supposed to concentrate on now?
Drunkenness. Empty stomach. Some life to come.
Im not consoled by this. It is a
as indifferent as the sea,
to know love
as the end of all our imagining. Theres always something
to see, feel & smell. But I loved you as well
as you loved me.
Life without love is unimaginable.
Life in the movies is too clear.
Life bores men who think all morning.
Love means you never stop staring
at me, no matter how many girls
I spent adoring, & that I know who we are
when the weathers out of hand.
a paper boat, filled with poems
Outside, its twenty degrees, inside
maybe 40. Thats not specific enough, your nipples
as red as raspberries, thats closer
but obviously drunken sentiment, your pubic hair not sorrel
as much as I like saying the word, your cunt sweet
but who among your lovers hasnt told you as much
I loved how you shivered against the palm of my hand
I want to smoke a cigarette but I dont
I want my tongue inside you when Im saying this
my lips full against you my tongue curled deep inside you
I imagine the pressure of wanting you to be your legs
squeezing my head as you come, but its not specific enough
its just that I cant avoid it, Im freezing, the radiator
hissed off hours ago, Chris paces the living room
no sound but some distant car alarm outside, blocks away
this isnt a good poem the beer sits heavy in my belly
I want to feel your weight on me, my cocks unreal in my hand
without you though the negatives disperse
my arms will fold when Im done with this but no one will care
but you, no one will see me from this angle but you
& as mornings early business opens
we again will open, I will open, & will think of you
open, having opened, my only lover,
Date: January 5
Subject: what is a man?
(gary, a swallowing thing that gazes)
what is a man
an extension of skin
with hair in the bed
that reeks of difference
what is a man
but a swallowing thing
he pulls back the curtain
to reveal a shivering/ sparrows
tiny carnelian/ legs
at the end of the day
there is always energy
like a boomerang.
tell that to fernando
he knows all about rapture
Date: January 5
Subject: what is a woman?
what is a woman? a kind
of cock holder or sometimes
a sea urchin, a woman
is a blast of sea water
trickling out the mouth
of her lover, and in the
center of the heat
there is a blue flame
called sympathy. "sympathy"
is what lights up the
street that you walk
in, thinking of your cock
being held. being. held.
what is a woman but
a kind of internal refrain
constantly hummed so you
know youre alert so what
is a woman, who inscribes
her organs for you
can only be this peculiar
abalone, the interior
shell nacreous but only
when you pry it.
Date: January 6
"The key to thinking is
words. Words unlock the brain
so you can see." Curtis Faville
Love, if its anything
other than illusion of mind, is like
learning to read. My mouth is open, Im naked & unashamed
The moon will also go down.
Here in a word is the window
through which I see it. Meanwhile,
Chris plays the Buzzcocks in the living room, I type this letter to you
letter by letter,
it seems silly, Ive already forgotten
what it was supposed to be about,
Im non-existent. Everything is.
Chris disagrees. One of us
cant be wrong.
Still, if theres a land which is the mind
loves more than the atoms of dust which populate it.
hear me? The faucet dripping
reminds me of you. Like you, I cant hear
it from here.
I wish I wasnt so lazy, I wish I had money, or
could quote Lorca from memory:
"Como las ondas
sobre el agua,
asi en mi corazon
The average reader wont bother to look it up.
Because theres a sense in which things are
as we say they are.
I would like to eat you. Like
a white wall. "Movie cream."
Look at your little finger, the emptiness
of its like this letter once I know its in your hands.
isnt working is it, I sat through too much garbage
at the Church, & only the thought of you unzipping your Gene Simmons boots
& lying back on your futon
will inspire me tonight. Will you? If I write you
really wet porno?
"When wind comes, petals lightly
separate the overlay,
cream folded against cream."
you like subtlety. Pure moments
carried to a poised light patiently in love.
writes you a letter.
Hes kind of a junkie parrot
the kind whod rather run his hand
down your leg than write you a sonnet, are you scared?
write you, if writing means your head on his shoulder
w/his tiny fingers between your legs.
that you/she has her lover (him ((me))).
Was fucking you
an avoidance of words? "Words" meaning
your clit might as well live
at the bottom of the deepest part
of the ocean.
Im not sure if porno can be written by a person. Nada,
I want you to draw your knees apart
gently, & let the blood dry.
Writing you, I begin to float.
Sexuality expressed within, not by,
Writing = riding.
I would do anything
to fuck you again
like the only person Ill ever fuck again, the written word
is porno cuz any written word is re-experiencable
theres a faithfulness to porno,
you have to be
faithful to it.
I want my words to open your legs.
I want to see you,
[Enclosed in a letter from Nada, early January]
the first night
cats must feel
like what i felt
Date: January 8
Subject: music of the spheres
ring around the orb
the night is more
cold. i prove
what is hard
or the inverse.
am i crazy?
is starlight ludicrous?
"to meet a llama
of the opposite sex"
inside your orb;
yours inside mine.
you are my
Date: January 9
What if all these nouns
are stand-ins, losers
The alleged "real world" would
Humiliate, née Weaken
Similarly the belief we had in fabulous threads
& cigarettes, or have
Now that weve kissed each other
& imagine that makes us
What we tell ourselves well never be.
Butterglory. Orson Welles.
Can of Bud
While you sleep I think of
Tornadoes, piss off everyone important
& flail, but refuse to fail. "You." Only
Words, not even human breath, hey
Ever notice theres always more non-smokers
Than intervals in which to smoke?
Its the world, not me, thats been unfaithful.
To you. & through you
back home, stripped
To my underwear & Beny Morés "Francisco
Guayabal." I admit
I have no ideas about "objects," nor
Hope to. Save you. Where all that passes
Is time, this time might as well be Beny Moré
Any mere speck
In our hands, in which "Beny Moré," etc., depend.
Its always time to
go to bed
With you. On Earth
& lying coeval beside you, I see a look
On your face, like
"Let me sit on yours." Its okay if we do it
To Beny Moré, hes as sophisticated as we are
Ourselves, though hes older, dead
Actually. Sleeping, we only pretend to be
Other names. You demand
too much from me
For instance grace & incomparable
Beauty, my face frightens you, the roof
Is safer, I shouldve kissed you
There, where at least the viewd distract.
Four flights above Brooklyn
It doesnt matter the stairwell reeks of mold
Theyre steps which climb a steeper goal.
Date: January 10
Subject: doesnt just
doesnt just pop up out of nowhere
seduced by bits, by
these linked heads pleasant
deforming. if i see your
face every day will i
become a cartoon?
the bird picks bugs
off the rhinoceros.
my chest is open to the
cool air, steaming, even
without you fixedly
staring down. forever
is a glib word but not
without a certain charm
alarm my little body
shivers to (your little
body). as-yet unborn
cats flex their furless
paws in amniotic fluid.
do you know what a
"charm box" is? when i
see you again, ill tell you
Date: January 10
Subject: Lines written while you sleep
Tires roll wetly through
last nights snow I read
"Thank you for bringing your states of mind"
in a book Ill keep in my head like
the winter sky a cloud sunk in the pale urban landscape
it makes me a bit claustrophobic though the light
warms the room which is good cuz the radiators dead
hasnt hissed or pinged since early last night
I open another book & read "Exactly because the air is
made still and heavy by carbons" & slow down I even think
a thought through to its logical conclusion before
closing the book to look out the window & stare
into equally blank sky imagine every human eye awake in New York
the light grows dim snow begins to fall I feel you
turn in your sleep adjust your heartbeat to this
my typing which is anyway all I have of you today whatever
I allow myself to write down, did I
mention how outside people scattered on the street look up
envious of us as I am envious of you your arm-encircled waist
maybe I wish to resemble only my lovers lover
so I write you excessively as he would write to you
"no thoughts future dreams nor even empty after glow now"
I might be dying now but wouldnt even know
its just winter makes me morbid tho the thought of love keeps
me from pursuing that thought opening another book
"On which the step of that I have denied
Descends in silver to his proper bride" thank you Elinor Wylie
Atlantic Bell can unplug my phone & I can rest in pieces
Date: January 11
Subject: internet a sonnet
internet a sonnet (after EBB)
when first ye fingers to the keyboard set
to call me in the darkness of my room
and plunged through head and heart, to mourning womb
the language of your love, though wed not "met"
i heard the hard disk whirring, and a net
of silver fell upon my solo skin.
no, the net protruded from within
for to be caught is something that we let
happen, fate allowing. now i recall
a clumsy sonnets (written long ago)
entrapment metaphor for love, and all
my teacher said was "leave off old forms, no
dont write like this," but still, though dumb and small
i offer this to you, so that youll know.
p.s. i think entrapment comes up as a metaphor in sonnets because i feel trapped in the form, at least when stuck to as strictly as this. ive never tried to write them in the bernadette or ted styles tho i LOVE those poems. rodefer was the teacher. it was before i swerved into avant-gardism i wrote that older sonnet (not that this one is any less clumsy), something about running through a maze of love, the final bad couplet, "although due to my love im trapped and mad/ it is that very madness makes me glad." oh dear.
p.p.s. heres an epigraph from EBB herself:
(Elizabeth to Robert, on the anniversary of his first letter to her, January 10, 1846)
Shall I tell you? it seems to me, to myself, that no man was ever before to any woman what you are to me the fulness must be in proportion, you know, to the vacancy.. & only I know what was behind..the long wilderness without the footstep without the blossoming rose and the capacity for happiness, like a black gaping hole, before this silver flooding.
(i found this after i wrote the net of silver line above)
p.p.s. hey did you know these two were into bibliomancy and oracles too? check out what Robert says:
(Robert to Elizabeth, February 11,1846)
Yesterday morning as I turned to look for a book, an old fancy seized me to try the "sortes" and dip into the first page of the first I chanced upon, for my fortune; I said "what will be the event of my love for Her" in so many words and my book turned out to be "Ceruttis Italian Grammar" a propitious source of information.. the best to be hoped, what could it prove but some assurance that you were in the Dative Case, or I, not in the ablative absolute? [ ] Well, I ventured - and what did I find? This which I copy from the book now "If we love in the other world as we do in this, I shall love thee to eternity" = from "Promiscuous Exercises," to be translated into Italian, at the end.
Date: January 11
Subject: weekend letter
its 11:30 Friday night, it snowed tonight, the cars are covered with it, the sidewalks, & the roofs. Its beautiful outside right now, like Minneapolis, I wish I was curled up with a glass of hot apple cider.
I think only one thought conclusively, I love you, I totally want you Nada Gordon, its kinda unconscionable, dont you think, like wheres my real life, dont I have other things to do but write you, where otherwise might my energy go, I could be working on a new cartoon, getting a better job, I could be picking out my new wardrobe, I could be making new friends, I could be doing anything, but no, no, here I am, I write you because its the only way I know how to prove my devotion, & its more than that, Id rather write you than do anything else, even though I know Ill die someday and youll die someday, well both die, and then where will we be, it doesnt matter, the truth is if we fuck this up were gonna haunt each other endlessly, do you want that, can you live with that, I cant, I love your friends for telling you this is It, I wish my friends were so loving, I wish my friends were equally generous, I wish my friends could see, oh you never told me by the way, what does Andrea think of this, does she think its true love does she think its viable does she think youre crazy & irresponsible, baby Im tired & I want you to hold me, how come youre not here & holding me, how come Im alone when I know who you are, when I know you exist, how come were apart, it isnt fair, it isnt, were not supposed to be apart, isnt that obvious, dont answer that with reason, it wont work, my whole being wont be swayed by reason, Nada, every cell in my body knows youre out there, knows youve been here, what are you waiting for, sideburns? Less furrowed brow-on-a-man? You want better shoulders than these, these are mine, my love, meaning theyre yours, do you really imagine better shoulders will hold you, do you really imagine any other man writing you like this, do you imagine any other voice in your ear but mine, or any in mine but yours, will you ever be able to caress other legs but mine & imagine youre loved, imagine you love, o I dont care who else you ever see, I dont care who you flirt with, I know, Nada, Ive ruined you, spoiled you, & will continue to, will love you more intensely than any future suitor, give it up, its hopeless, even this letter is only the beginning, is nothing, finally, tell me in all sincerity youve ever been loved so completely, tell me any other man has this passionately wanted you, tell me you were ever this wet before or will be, when actually everybody else anybody else will only ever be stepping into our footsteps, cartoon suitors, please tell me you love me, please tell me Im not alone, arent you lonely in Japan without me, arent you missing something, like the most important person in your life, baby I want you to be happy I wanna make you happy but youre thousands of miles away & I know only one thing will convince you, one thing already has, baby please dont forget ever ever forget what it was like, dont stop imagining what it will be like, together, I love you my soft light, my single monkey, are your hands open or closed when you sleep?
Do you know something I never told you, Ive always loved that you call this a drug, it is, like being filled with white light & comforting warmth. Im feeling that now, Ive switched positions, Ive closed my doors & tacked up the blue blanket-thing, Im lying on my stomach on the bed with my laptop on the floor, two pillows beneath my chest, Im rubbing my erection into the bed, softly, I just remembered that, when I was young, thats what I would do, even though my stepbrother showed us all how to masturbate, I never did that, I would lie in bed on my stomach and move my hips, move them until I came, which you know, initially was just this feeling, this spasm, this whole body tingling, but without any release of sperm, that came later, not much later, but later. Can I concentrate on anything now but being with you?
O the sun is directly on me now, its delightful. I can barely see the screen though, but thats okay, I dont need to really see what Im writing. In fact, its best, imagine typing me with your eyes closed, Im doing that now, not looking, the sun warm against my eyelids, and having to remember where I am just from knowing what my hands have done oh its kind of erotic typing you like this eyes closed lying on my stomach lemme unzip my jeans ohhhh that felt good & my nose right now is kinda right in my blanket im imagining your brown housecoat why did I find that so sexy cuz you were in it definitely but also the coat itself it was so warm maybe so comfortable it was furry oh you were like a brown cat in it thats why I love you my brown kitten wanna rub your tummy now wanna smell your hair & skin I wanna lie with you in the sun and hold each other until were sweating because I wanna taste you oh please please nada next time no deodorant I wanna be able to lick your underarms I wanna taste you there & smell you, oh I can feel my heartbeat accelerating its at that moment I wanna take your hands in mine its then I wanna stare into your eyes both of us naked and sit with you on the futon maybe drape our legs such that our genitals are close without touching and just our slender fingers interlocked, curling around each other, constantly moving like baby eels at the ends of our hands, tongues with fingerprints, I feel so strong lying in the sun my hearts racing now throbbing against my ribcage I wanted to write you some porno but this isnt porno really not what I had in mind I was gonna write you some noun-filled erotic scenario, sort of like yours though mine would have been less imaginative, I liked yours, the nettles ohhh delicious detail, animal breath, riding with your legs around the leopards haunches, anyway my feet are cold I wanna get them warm somehow why isnt the sun falling on them, Ive just lifted my legs they feel warmer now the sun must be on them, you are the sun nada, the sun is you, Im imagining your energy with the help of the suns, & just opened my legs, am suddenly conscious of my asshole, like how you described the leopards asshole, Im waving my legs back & forth in the air, look at what youve reduced me to, I cant be with you now so Im doing this, you cant be with me now so Im describing this, its kind of agonizing & embarrassingly silly but what other erotic pleasures can I offer you now just this ludicrous stream of consciousness while I lie here erect & without you, but also with you, the sun is so harsh my baby it feels great but I really cant see anything, my eyes are tearing up and all I can see is red, am I seeing the blood in my eyelids or is it the color light through the flesh makes im conscious of my breathing, steady but a bit rapid, Im aware also of my hair for some reason, like the warmth is making it grow, oh thats weird and I can feel the back of my throat too a bit scratchy still like I still have a cold okay suddenly I want to change positions I wanna lie back, Ive now moved, the pillows are against the wall & Im sitting upright, my legs stretched out before me, the laptop on my forelegs, my jeans undone, open, imagine a V & my erection just inside that, peeking out, and what Im trying to do now, Im pausing between typing, taking hold of my penis & trying to imagine what its like for you when you hold it, what this thing feels like to you, so much of the other person, so much mine, is this why we concentrate on genitals, generally, above & beyond the obvious reason, but because they are so much the other person, your pussy so much you, & is that maybe why I wanted when I was with you to bury my head between your legs so often, why I loved being there, why I loved how you tasted, yeah but also how you shuddered when I licked you, and those little noises you made, almost like you were crying, how you sound when youre crying, but slightly different, your whole being shuddering, now, Im so erect if you could see me it would look sort of like this
\ | /
with the \ / things being my jeans, where the zipper is, opened, and my cock erect between them, oh its amazing to think you held this, what is that like anyway I kinda want you to describe that for me, it must be kind of thrilling, especially knowing that this has grown for you, that its me responding to you, it was undescribably thrilling when you told me "look at what youve done to me," and then opened your legs & guided my fingers there with your hand or was it just with how you looked at me to feel how moist you were, remembering that I have to hold myself very hard, have to squeeze myself, & agitate the head of my cock just slightly, my hearts really pounding right now my love, oh you are my monkey, I want my monkey-cat-bird wrapped around me now, I want to sit here like this, my back on pillows against the wall, legs outstretched, fully erect, & have you climb on top of me Nada, your legs straddling me, & oh ewww, would you let me kiss & lick your chin, your neck, your shoulders, & blow on you everywhere, Nada maybe its the distance we are from each other or maybe its the strength of the sun on me maybe its that you told me you liked this and maybe its having talked with you last night & felt so completely with you its all these things probably but I want really bad to lie you back with your head falling back over the edge of the futon, & with scarves tie each of your wrists to the wooden frame with your arms outstretched, & then your ankles too, opening your legs widely (your pubic hairs would really glisten in this light you know, uhhhnnnn), & securing your ankles to the wooden frame as well, oh and I know what Id do first my darling, Id kiss you from your belly to your pubes, then would begin to lick you slowly just how you like it, lapping you like a kitten at its milk dish, & Id ask you to tell me when you felt like you were close to coming, meanwhile Id be masturbating, and when you told me you were close Id stop licking you, I wouldnt let you come, instead Id raise up on my knees over you, so you could watch as I came, as though the energy had been transferred directly to me, nada im coming as I write this, I can feel it ohhhh fuck ... mmmmmmmmmmmmm I can imagine it spraying all across your body, from your legs, through your pubic hair, across your belly, dribbling onto your nipples, oh do you know how much cum I just released? wow, my boxers are soaked, I can feel it dribbling between my legs, lightly tickling my scrotum. Urrrgh. Oh, but no it wouldnt be over yet, Id follow the trail of my sperm with my tongue, & either thatd annoy you or itd feel good, youd let me know, & if it annoyed you maybe Id lean back down between your legs & continue to lick you until you began to shudder, & would then continue to explore the rest of your body with my tongue, with my fingers, to tease you, to worship you, you could tell me anything you wanted & maybe Id grant it, but maybe I wouldnt, some things Id do for you, other things Id start to do, but would trail off, taking the story elsewhere, & youd never know, & you couldnt get free, unless you really wanted to, or you grew bored, in which case youd tell me, but Im thinking you probably wouldnt be bored, you like how lightly my hair falls on your belly, huh, & how my breath feels against your skin, & that I marvel at your breathing, your beating heart, oh, Id write a poem in Henna the length of your body, lines going up your legs, around your belly button, what would I write, well it would be a sacramental poem I think, & something as lusciously detailed as you, as intricate as my love for you, & as long, oh, oh, oh
Date: January 13
Subject: phone sex
indeflourishing alone, my belly
imbranded with your elonging
adust with your handprint
your gaze azurn,
all conglobed in plenipotent
imparadised, we phone, concoctive,
even after jaculation.
if you will be my conflagrant
i will be your paranymph
all myrrhine in my arborous mewings,
completely glibbed by you,
in nocent elamping
Date: January 13
The leopard comes on stage walking erect to do his strip show. Hes holding his tail in one of his front paws, sniffing it like Bills cigar. He has the face of a cartoon leopard, like Tigger, like Tony the Tiger, like Sher Khan. One notices his mouth, the two puffy whiskered flaps of his upper "lip", his seductive eyes (see Baudelaire on this, languid and profound, containing the universe). He is swinging his narrow hips side to side, side to side, and lets his tail go too to swing it in the opposite direction, to create momentum. He runs his front paws down the sides of his body he is beautiful, one wants to wear him. He strokes himself behind his ears, then down over his neck and upper legs, which he then holds out in openness as he sways. Oh. His penis begins to emerge from where it hides inside him. It is pink, glistening. The barbs are not visible. His hips start to go back and forth and around in circles too. He puts his front paws above his head and snaps his equivalent of fingers, then turns around completely to wave his tail sharply back and forth at the audience, his big feline asshole perfectly obvious, and below it two fuzzy golden testicles the women in the audience can barely resist running up to caress.
One actually does me, I think, and as I do so he turns his head to me in lust and irritation. I hear a low growl in his throat. And as he bends toward me I think, this is the end, I am dead now, but he just nuzzles my neck. I shiver in delight. He feels so warm, and is licking me behind my ear. I have forgotten I am on stage, I am so spellbound, my eyes are closed and I can smell him, sweetly meaty fur and whiff of urine. I run my hands over his variegated coat, the smooth way, and I lose myself until I find I have mounted his back, my legs around his haunches, my head just next to his. His whole body is purring me, I almost come. He lies down and encloses me in his front paws. My eyes are still closed as he roughly licks my face and I am slightly sickened by his animal breath but also drugged. I reach down to feel his penis, about which I am curious, as it is so new to me. I start from the tip downwards, it is slimier than a human penis, and slimmer. When I touch it he stretches out all his limbs and starts to shake a little. He bites me lightly on the neck. I move my fingers now from the shaft upwards to the tip. My hand is in excruciating pain from the little barbs, like I had grasped nettles. I howl. Frightened, the leopard gets up and cowers against the red velvet curtain at the back of the stage. I am crestfallen, and frustrated: "what have I done? Ive blown it." I lift my skirt, put my hand in to collect some moisture, and hold out my hand to him. He comes slowly towards me, I notice the rolling of his muscles. He sniffs my hand, licks it. Our eyes lock. We are in love.
Date: January 15
we are the golden eternity in mortal animate form
& so desire love, abandoned
would condemn us. There is no elevator
in that shaft, the wind howls
in the stairwell, someone left the front door open
I regain consciousness slowly. To drink I
until I fall
down, o the thin hair in the small of your back.
As if the mind were a poem (it isnt) & as useless
as the concept of eternity. Rome apple. Summer
squash. Jewish rye. Thank you
o thank you iced window, lights
twinkling in perturbed atmosphere
"occasional ugliness" "nobility" "earthly mould"
Id love anyone whod call the sky shredded
whod call to tell me that much. Im here
now, why havent you
called me tonight?
The wind comes up
as though balancing on two legs.
to say more, say
broke my neck, a dead crane, a
failure. There are three matches left in this book.
I read. Leonardo da Vincis earliest memory was
he was lying in his cradle when a vulture came down
& "opened my mouth with its tail, struck
me many times with its tail against my lips."
Freud dismissed it as fantasy.
the mind apart survives, keeps us
if not sane, aroused.
My hair is not exactly kempt.
Earlier, I beat off looking at the photos
Am I supposed
to make a joke of it? Its Martin Luther
today, hed be 70
Ive run out of money. When I
beat off, I did try to imagine it was you
but I still need to know
a lot of things, though
as long as fate permits, Ill go
on beating off.
I have no political conscience
its too cold, the radiators pitiless
& sos romance. Sorry, not my
heart requited by the fact of its own existence. If I
could stumble back out this door, beneath
the jet trails frozen thick scalloped edges
or the work of the day drilled into asphalt
well, probably I would, but probably
Ill just lay
my head down on the pillow
yellow & stained, love
"the only subject, the rest
[Written by Nada on the back of a postcard, sent late January.]
we do our
love in a clear, veined bubble in the
mind vacuumed shut by a horrible flower that is really
a sea mammal out of whose belly a listless man gazes at a rat in a
plastic tube before the invasion of plastic. the others are loving or riding huge birds (swoosh of feathers on human skin) or loving giant blueberries which may be skulls or lava or pregnant. the man on the mallard, whose balls are on the mallard starts to kiss the "nubian." the mallard looks idiot-wicked. a 1/2 submerged guy presses his pretty erection beneath a red ball. how do
you love an owl? why are the tiny swallows courting? why does the
magpie think only of filigree? why are you looking
at me that way? i realize im inflatable
Date: January 20
"A quiet, a very quiet place
With camellias in bloom."
Shinkichi Takahashi, "Cat"
Ruffled in January, people
open each eye
as the day lurches the world that lights
Many things are better unnaturally lit
like rooftops, a fist before it slants.
I want to continue gently.
I equals soft harmless
bulb January tenders softer. Wave-blurred
light nape never exposed.
Poem stroked as fur
no better than furs silent thought. Waves
of snow screwed in cold metal faucet.
disk, dusk a deep trickle.
For verve, outside. Outside, its
all you. Outside you, some light
unsurpassed in beauty this January day.
snuffed likewise by people it warms, cold
people on steps at dawn.
the better to eat what your legs
sweep free, leaning, like a house in January.
topples white castlework, the voice
of a car goes by.
Brooklyn all lit up, its plumbing
frozen like a song no longer played, duped
by selfish expert to office.
In Januarys pointless
building I am always wearing our tie, I learn
nothing to eat, & shrink from it.
I dont believe
we change the world by insisting. I call it
shy, focus on unstable objects.
pauses, as if its pavement. Slightly,
unless light, I know you,
Date: January 20
Subject: How do I love thee? III
i love thee because thou asketh of me
artful proof of love and provideth
same, i love thee because thou art perfect,
or flawed, or neither, or both. i love thee
because thou art an always open faucet,
for me. for me. i love thee for thy quaint ways,
thy courtly vigor in a crabbed world. i love thee
for thy littleness and slang, and for the breath that rides
like frantic lovers to thy brain. i love thy very tongues
constructions. i love thee because
thou dilateth my pupils, maketh
my tongue spout water, my loins to flutter.
i love thee because thy gaze is the liveliest
thermometer of our dual being, i love thee
as i love the goldest light in this room
i shall never see again. i love thee as i love
the red numbers on my phone that count
the minutes i have cooed with thee. i love thee
as i love thine own room, the quilt that laurie gaveth thee
on the bed on which we lay, stroking. i love thee as i love
writing, as composition. is healing.
[Sent as a letter from Nada, late January.]
i wish i had your skin
today, or at least some clearer semblance
of my own, this eruption just below the nostril a reminder
of my "emergency." it was somewhat cruel, dont you think,
to send me such gleeful pictures of you, as if to say
"im thriving" while
my face breaks out into sponges
over the tokyo skyline
i look up at the shinjuku towers,
the imperial palace, all of shitamachi, and feel suddenly huge,
having eaten mackerel in miso and drunk hoji-cha. yes, gary,
i feel heavy in my
clothes, the same ones i wore to the mona lisa, as if
that day i was i, or you you, instead of a couple of smaller-than-life
standup figures pulled out of the dumpster of failed romance
paolo and francesca are still cartwheel-copulating their way through limbo
or was it hell? remind me.
comes from OE "sweetard" orig. meaning
dullard or dotard, but if this
foolish its only as the pastiche of you i find myself becoming, like the only
boyfriend ill ever imitate again.
why a vulnerable bruised peach today?
with bloodshot eyes
gary ive got nothing
but trump cards for you, not hidden, spread
out on the table, my thumb
that grips the notebook is throbbing with the blood i oh!
somehow find in my veins
which may as well be yours
along with the all the rest of me.
its too late to call you
and beg you to make me laugh
or jerk off in my ear
but everytime i hear a string
i start going CUCKOO
my cool heart
should i care?
(swinging around lamppost)