599

There is a pain—so utter—
It swallows substance up—
Then covers the Abyss with Trance—
So Memory can step
Around—across—upon it—
As one within a Swoon—
Goes safely—where an open eye—
Would drop Him—Bone by Bone.

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

In an apartment on 53rd street
A fire is burning
Out of a keyhole &
Into a cigarette.

Smoke comes in walls
& is heavier than rocks
& it takes an artist
To hate oneself.

Moon-faced Serbians sipped
Drain-O from sandals
While red-lipped nomads
Gazed & sharpened their blades.

A fat lady walks in &
Before she can say
“Burger & fries”
There are spears in her ears.

The body is dragged to the
River by sheepish failures, but
The boxer knew what was afoot &
Had removed all the water from the river.

But no-one cared because a riot had
Started in the streets
“Flay the feminazis,” they chanted
“Pour molten oil on the devout,” they screamed.

& all the flat-eyed artists
& all the drag-queen mobsters
Danced around the fire like evolution
& an ape got in the middle of it.

His fingertips calloused
His elbows like spears
His eyes w/ more blood
Than white.

Richard Nixon or
A Richard Nixon costume
Entered stage right w/
Boxing gloves & cocktails.

They would throw children
Across the fire
& artists on the other side would be
Waiting w/ nets & knives.

But then tear gas came
& they cried & their
Tears were like the eyes that
Glinted at them.

Out of a keyhole &
Into a cigarette.

she texts me
i check my pack
6 cigarettes left

i count how many i lost to my lungs
8 yesterday
not too bad.

i make my way downstairs and meet her behind our building
she's a quiet girl
thin
makes me feel like an avalanche when I talk
and all we have in common
is our index and *******
clutching softly to yellow filters

i can't hear her
all i can pick up is the sound of the ember engulfing more of the tobacco
the heat crawling closer to my fingers
it's all i can see
or hear
or feel

we burn down to the bone
we remember each other
crush the boagie
beneath shoes freckled with the scars of cigarettes past

our collective head rush too severe to take the stairs
i press the button to call the elevator
and complain about how long it takes

Gentle lady, do not sing
Sad songs about the end of love;
Lay aside sadness and sing
How love that passes is enough.

Sing about the long deep sleep
Of lovers that are dead, and how
In the grave all love shall sleep:
Love is aweary now.

Stasis in darkness.
Then the substanceless blue
Pour of tor and distances.

God's lioness,
How one we grow,
Pivot of heels and knees! -- The furrow

Splits and passes, sister to
The brown arc
Of the neck I cannot catch,

******-eye
Berries cast dark
Hooks ----

Black sweet blood mouthfuls,
Shadows.
Something else

Hauls me through air ----
Thighs, hair;
Flakes from my heels.

White
Godiva, I unpeel ----
Dead hands, dead stringencies.

And now I
Foam to wheat, a glitter of seas.
The child's cry

Melts in the wall.
And I
Am the arrow,

The dew that flies,
Suicidal, at one with the drive
Into the red

Eye, the cauldron of morning.

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it----

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a **** lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
0 my enemy.
Do I terrify?----

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart----
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash ---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"