The Tuesday before the Wednesday
I live
through
phrases. I’m
the progenitor
of the gathering
poem. It’s
clear I live
here & no place
else but
so badly. I feel
sorrow at my
piles of towels
and wires. Where’s
Jill, where’s
Emma, where’s
Alice. I add
to the mess
a little diet coke.
Superman
sits in his
underwear
having cleaned
his house &
now not ready to
go ahead. My
powers are
activated
by a can
of toxic
America
it’s red
it’s white
my blues. I
am the King of Lyric
exhaustion. Of
travelling
of loving you.
Caroline
said what
are you grateful
for today. You,
you lunatic
and water &
water hydrants
and my
dog. Would
anyone like
to pick my
dog up in
Marfa on August
29th & drive
her to New
York. Where
are u
Alice writes.
New York. Dear
Alice can
I pick up the
car on the
21st instead
of the 20th. Dear
Gregg on account
of love (it’s great)
I will not
be staying
in Chicago
on the night
of the what
ever that
Saturday
is. Dear Hans
I would like
to go to London
in November.
Dear Jill. I want
to say to the
busiest
person I know
I want
to be free
for you. Dear
Jill you’re
screwed. Dear Poetry
as you watch
these phrases take
up the wires
of my existance
you can palpably
witness
a luminescence
like the glow
rising from
a corpse
splayed on a
palette like
an X. Praise
the new junkie
dying of ex
haustion Anna
Ann(e)
Eileen. Make
Eileen go
slow no hurry
my ass. Let the collapse
of the city
its syncopated thuds
its bark, its
clap
its holler
let each
mucilage…
do you remember
the ducky
tip of the
mucilage
bottle
in grade
school. That is
the wrong
direction
the leaves say. Conrad
writes he
is blessing the trees
in this
class wherever
and he
thanks me for
my trees
which are my
blessing the green
phrase
bobbing on my
bed & Honey’s
exhausted
rasp, my old
baby husband.
I can’t
believe I got
off the
phone describing
my stalker
I don’t have
a stalker.
I have a mis
understood
friend
it sounds
like something
is stapling
everything
it feels good.
