LITMIR.BIZ

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      Love brought

      me a handful

      of pussy willows to place

      near my face. A sick head

      and a sick heart ought be licked

      back to health, said said Love,

      all stealth. All stick and cue. Love,

      didn't I tell you, not to foot

      over threshold of mine? But

      Love was over, Love was under.

      Love was in. Love was wrought.

      Love swept the house, then, Love was

      done. Aye, There's the rub!

      The phoenix and the turtle

      dove? Ha! Love, Love is

      nought.

       dear abiah

      'Tis true,

      we are all made of root

      And rue; head-down and head-long, trailing

      Like the arbutus.

      O great Arbiter! I keep

      A terrible secret. The staves acre. And the back

      Ache. And the Longing,

      long and low.

      Old, hard news, Desire. That prick! And that

      Sting. All but made. All the promises

      I intend. To make. To keep. To bend.

      So-long So-sweet! I will

      Miss you! Doubt not, or do. I was true. I am

      Plaintive, but pliant. Think-me-not

      Heart-less or heed-less. None the less: I will.

      Ease back. Once again. Yes. Exactly. As does

      Spring.

       a small number

      So far, have managed, Not

      Much. So far, a few fractures, a few factions, a Few

      Friends. So far, a husband, a husbandry, Nothing

      Too complex, so far, followed the Simple

      Instructions. Read them twice. So far, memorized three Moments,

      Buried a couple deaths, those turning faces. So far, two or Three

      Sonnets. So far, some berrigan and Some

      Keats. So far, a scanty list. So far, a dark wood. So far, Anti-

      Thesis and then, maybe, a little thesis. So far, a small Number

      Of emily's letters. So far, tim not dead. So far, Matt

      Not dead. So far, jim. So far, Love

      And love, not so far. Not so love. So far, no-Hope.

      So far, all face. So far, scrapped and scraped, but Not

      With grace. So far, not Very.

       the lais of lost long days . . .

      Today I used my new little hummingbird of a poem to get a big old hummingbird of

      A bug out the only open, able, window. All my poems are hummingbirds, are windows,

      Are poems, mostly painted shut. Mostly, suffocate and smile. But, hey, I know a good

      Simile when I trap it, under glass. Like a cup. Discarded. Sordid. YOU COULD

      NOT. The visitors come from all over to see how I can attend to so little for so long. So

      Long so sweet! I said that in one of my latest poems. (One of my last.) I have finally got

      Ten permission to repeat myself! Myself, never was one to relive the past, but now

      I've seen that one clip many many times. Because your Face would put out

      Jesus'. Still enjoy it. That new Grace. Still think I'm sitting too far back. Pale. Home

       Sick. Eye. Still realize it isn't great art. Nothing is. Wire sculpture that. I know, I know,

      It's been done. As I am sure someone has already lived this life, this wife, for me. Poor

      Fuck. Sick Fish. Lately, I want, (o!), I wish, all my poems to end in, to end with,

      Spring. The word, I mean. AND I, COULD I? Lately, I head steadily for,

      Tread slowly toward, Abelard. Froward, I mean. I mean, Aberdeen.

       june twenty seven eight nine nineteen sixty seventy ninety six seven eight

      Some one just got on their bicycle, and is, and is

      . . . GONE! The Sun makes his mellow his slow his

      high-low-way. I send cigarette and coffee drunk postcards to

      . . . EVERYBODY! Joe Joe Joe Joe Joe! How hot are you?

      To summer, to summit (to submit) properly is a mighty, is a difficult

      Task. Jenn! O Floating Friend! Are you still on the ferry to . . . BUCK

      TOWN? There are new guests in my beds but, no.

      No visitors, no visions, Love, O. Dear Mary, Hello. It is 9:47 in the long

      blonde morning. Good Morning, Fair Warning! Hell-

      o. O! Luminous Straggler, (don't you know?) all

      my post-its are really addressed to no one,

      no one, two, three, four but (YOU . . . DON'T . . .

      KNOW) O!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I sigh,

      I sign, with a somber sobriquet,

      yrs, X. O.

       wow

      in sleep and in sickness

      in drought and in doubt

      for porous for curious for highly and dangerous-

      ly adventurous/experimental/momentous

      (let me not to the marriage admit pedants, lice, pedophiles)

      in truth and in truth and in hg1 sticky-er tricky-er wile-

      ier truths (no, not the truths behind that mountain but of the sky

      behind that sky)

      in sleep and in sickness, once again,

      in sleep and in sickness, once again,

      in clamsauce and in stealth

      (let me)

      (not!)

      through through through

      and for for for for

      (Admit it!)

      EVER!

      do you?

      tickbird take?

      do you?

      swallow?

      whole?

      

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