You cram our course with lore of candlelight,
Of Beethoven’s and Haydn’s bursting heads:
We feel their music pulsing through the white
Plain walls. We know they really can’t be dead.
You wear the tones of music without fail,
A dress of black and white, your hair the shades
Of crows and chestnuts, face in creamy pale
Like paper marched with musical parades.
You tell us, “Put your ears on! Here it comes!”
It’s the bassoon, the awkward brother-wind.
Though reared on rock and roll, I feel at home
Beside your tender lisp and slicing grin,
And even with these music men, long gone:
If music be the food of love, play on.
The stairway smelled of smoke. On top, the door
cracked open an apartment where a gray
lean cat crouched on the table close behind
a shining flask of vodka and some wine.
The feline had the attitude of haze,
or a half-clothed woman lounging in the day
a blear-eyed morningtide, not much to say
(though it was evening – seven, probably).
Anthony, asleep in the next room
curled fetal in a blanket of soft green,
would not have startled at my brother’s touch
with such a gasp without the alcohol.
My brother said, “I’m sorry, man.” The gasp
expired, and Anthony recurled himself
soft and green and caterpillarous.
Ashamed to see him, I observed the cat.
Goodbye, you crashbang city. Unlike you,
I like my quivers fat and callous-toed:
I mean deep-hearted families by the stoves
propping country feet against hot wood.
I flout you, you big city, lonely-faced.
You swarm with slick successes, narrow youths,
Thin visages: the popping pot of soup
America the sterile melts into.
How many thousand for my chipping flat?
The bathtub’s paint, the broken light, switched off?
I’d like my family. Write an add for that.
Big city money, honey, don’t buy love.
The arbiter of Physics, Dr. Kucks, is like a sweatered fruit and walks the room, hands pocketed. I eye the glossy book. He titles good the diagrams of doom. But Virgil cousins my creative brain; like me, the forest reared him and he wrote. I bite my pen in half at formulae and smear the […]
Sometimes I hate to hope, and what I mean is that I go a-publishing my loves to persons who will laugh them back at me: A hazard of my personality. I heap a secret slow this time, all smiles. I shall not let it leak, whatever comes – then do. The New Year had me […]
I’ve longed in life for words, red-apple fat, To fall for me in grace, in perfect time. I wanted hard to be young when they fell And be loved widely long before my death. My hands were right. They knew to page-turn slow, To labor over letters with a quake Of one wee hand with […]
A crying shame it is, that you can’t sit outside inside the blowing hurricane, the weather touching you – not everyday its fingers come so close to you as this. It’s just her fringe. She oversnows your clothes with rain so fine and soaking it is strange. Umbrella-bring, unless you want to change ten times […]