I reached up into the top of the c
and took out a pair of blue pantie
and showed them to her and
asked “are these yours?”

some say we should keep personal r
poem,
stay abstract, and there is some r
but jezus;
twelve poems gone and I don’t keep

the vultures at the zoo
(all three of them)
sit very quietly in their
caged tree
and below

she was a short one
getting fat and she had once been
beautiful and
she drank the wine
she drank the wine in bed and

self-congratulatory nonsense as th
famous gather to applaud their see
greatness
you
wonder where

I see you drinking at a fountain w
blue hands, no, your hands are not
they are small, and the fountain i
where you wrote me that last lette
I answered and never heard from yo

I can remember starving in a
small room in a strange city
shades pulled down, listening to
classical music
I was young I was so young it hur

this man used to be an
interesting writer,
he was able to say brisk and
refreshing things.
at the time

in the hospitals and jails
it’s the worst
in madhouses
it’s the worst
in penthouses

“what?” they say, “you got a
computer?”
it’s like I have sold out to
the enemy.
I had no idea so many