Anselm Berrigan

The Hunt of the Frail Stag

She asked if I had faith in humanity
But the question was so dedicated 
To its own tone there was no room to answer
To not be inhospitable I insinuated I might
Have faith under other circumstances
In terms of the big watercolor & fossil fuels
But I was overheated in the early morning
& wanting to be back in the dribbling
passing as rain outside in Bushwick
Inside seemed like nowhere swallowing
Itself into Sunday until the trash rockers
Unleashed themselves & escorted me
Back to my hallway. He'd be thirty-one tomorrow.
After making & tearing up a list of names
Piling up the newspapers & fashioning
A reminder to ignore the terms by which
I usually engage the world completely
tomorrow for the rest of time, & to never
answer the phone again, I caved into stasis
Taking five by the lily white hand.
I take it the cosmos is each one's full extent
Bill said, It's not like saying I want a bigger garage

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