163.
Hard to read the numbers in this
light
go by the feel of the machine road
through water
voices in the street fear of
believing
whatever they say must be wrong way
round
nobody out there speaks our language
urgent children touching in the dark
who are those who move around inside
me
she walks by with a woodpecker on her
back
to prove that language is a function
of the skin
because language is all boundary
a walled garden and a maze at the
middle
and a mirror globe at the center with
roses all round it.
164.
Collecting stamps and never sending
mail
nobody writes letters anymore
people are afraid of words in the
hand
let Bach tell me six times what to do
next
translate into something we can keep
inside
inside us or in our household god domovoi
Lisa’s plump white arms in Ivan’s
dying brain
we have to know though where
everything belongs
o Egypt I am weak the rolled-up
carpet weighs too much
all the streets led up to the castle where
no one lives
you have to keep it all inside la
musique
and when the morning finally comes
the string will break.
