simply trying to remember a certain coat that took me like a mouth.
a coat my soul left me for.

I have been to the tub I would sit waterless in-
typewriter like a ******* my lap; the vaporous acorns of bliss winter squirrels, ash,
in the desperate curls of *****.  I have been

to the gym, its court of passed and passed back fire, its auditorium unfilled
as a church in spain.  I have been to my knees.  

to the egg of bird, the grief of cow, and to the lengthy absence
of train’s tunnel.  I have been

with boy, with baseball, with book-  smoking late on this fence

with these my trinities
soon to strike
for the house of my anna

cheerless and bare, not russian, not there.