There are sketches on the walls of
and outside a large green bus swer
insanity sprung from a waving line
says the radio, and Jane Austin,
"I am going to do her portrait on

Just give me a little atomic bomb
Not too mutch just a little
Enough to kill a horse in the stre
But there aren’t any horses in the
Enough to knock the flowers from a

he spoke to mice and sparrows
and his hair was white at the age
his father beat him every day and
lit candles in the church.
his grandmother came while the boy

Long walks at night—
that’s what good for the soul:
peeking into windows
watching tired housewives
trying to fight off

here they come
these guys
grey truck
radio playing
they are in a hurry

the illusion is that you are simpl
reading this poem.
the reality is that this is
more than a
poem.

was a truly amazing man
he pretended to be
rich
even though we lived on beans and
when we sat down to eat, he said,

you haven’t lived
until you’ve been in a
flophouse
with nothing but one
light bulb

I have lain in bed all day
but I have written one poem
and I am up now
looking out the window
and like a novelist might say

I’ve come by, she says, to tell yo
that this is it. I’m not kidding,
over. this is it.
I sit on the couch watching her ar
her long red hair before my bedroo