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

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

one of Lorca’s best lines
is,
“agony, always
agony ...”
think of this when you

majestic, majic
infinite
my little girl is
sun
on the carpet—

these things that we support most
have nothing to do with up,
and we do with them
out of boredom or fear or money
or cracked intelligence;

we had goldfish and they circled a
in the bowl on the table near the
covering the picture window and
my mother, always smiling, wanting
to be happy, told me, ‘be happy He

he was 65, his wife was 66, had
Alzheimer’s disease.
he had cancer of the
mouth.
there were

a woman, a
tire that’s flat, a
disease, a
desire: fears in front of you,
fears that hold so still

at one stage in my life
I met a man who claimed to have
visited Pound at St. Elizabeths.
then I met a woman who not only
claimed to have visited

she’s young, she said,
but look at me,
I have pretty ankles,
and look at my wrists, I have pret
wrists