245.
Where is this up I asked you to use
me to
a seashell in the sky a grammatical
awkwardness
Bruno’s cavatina in music someone’s
bound to die
we all are victims of perceiving
but what image lingers in the dying
mind
that is the real question about death
what do we go out with
wearing our curious inherited
garments
what symbol nestled in the socket of
the throat
so many things to remember only one
to carry with me
what is the mind before perceiving
the deep and simple well in which no
star shines.
246.
Day of knife angry dreams the crowded
train
never any clear way to get home
leaning on the woman till he fell a
statue
live in slo-mo with your eyes on fire
Schlomo, the king with a wife for
every night
but only one wife for all his days
married to wisdom with a golden
lariat
fine-tailed doves fly up into green
fronds
all this happens only because you’re
watching
if we didn’t see it wouldn’t be
language is the alley of dead kings
lets you speak without opening your
mouth.
