Let the place of the solitaires
Be a place of perpetual undulation.

Whether it be in mid-sea
On the dark, green water-wheel,
Or on the beaches,
There must be no cessation
Of motion, or of the noise of motion,
The renewal of noise
And manifold continuation;

And, most, of the motion of thought
And its restless iteration,

In the place of the solitaires,
Which is to be a place of perpetual undulation.

With my whole body I taste these peaches,
I touch them and smell them.  Who speaks?

I absorb them as the Angevine
Absorbs Anjou.  I see them as a lover sees,

As a young lover sees the first buds of spring
And as the black Spaniard plays his guitar.

Who speaks?  But it must be that I,
That animal, that Russian, that exile, for whom

The bells of the chapel pullulate sounds at
Heart.  The peaches are large and round,

Ah! and red; and they have peach fuzz, ah!
They are full of juice and the skin is soft.

They are full of the colors of my village
And of fair weather, summer, dew, peace.

The room is quiet where they are.
The windows are open.  The sunlight fills

The curtains.  Even the drifting of the curtains,
Slight as it is, disturbs me.  I did not know

That such ferocities could tear
One self from another, as these peaches do.

..and then she kisses,
sets me free
unburdens
takes the weight of me,
whispers in my ear,
'there,there dear,
don't get upset,
we've only just started
and not there yet,
be patient,
and then she kisses.

So I sat here writing a letter,
trying to recall events like the weather,
why red and blue have been fighting forever,
the kid in the newspaper with some new fever,
or that house that set itself on fire.

I wrote off the lines and on the back of the page
about a mother and father who abandoned their children,
a street that went up in a riot,
the telephone poles and the trees,
pipelines and the sewers, and their eventual decay.

I wrote, “Will you marry me,” one thousand times
Then I wrote, “I don't love you anymore,” one thousand and one.

I sat here
and I wrote a book that wasn't long enough
it couldn't explain the things I wanted to say.
An AK-47 sent through the mail.
The tower that fell with no plane.
Flower sales and drive-by’s,
what really happened to JFK?
Why wasn't it **** Cheney?

But I barely wrote half of what I could think.
A declaration of war, like it's a game.

I sat here, alone with my 90 degree angles
every night is a race to the bottom of the glass.
A prisoner to my own mind
which I cannot escape.

Our map seems stained
with the ink of Shakespeare's pen
dripping into our future,
Time plays with the plot
And we all must journey apart,
until we are together.

We wrestle time,
knocking out the days with patience
and mighty yawning.
Between us the fields of grass spread out
wider than fifty days on a calendar.

But at dusk, you are the star of my silver screen,
We unpack our minds like suitcases and
Move into the future together,
While apart.
Vanishing with a click,
Your goodnights soak the wind

In November
Time holds us apart,
Weary, but for the fullness of
December’s side-by-side mornings,
with toast crumbs and coffee breath
and kisses, anyway.

With hands full of promise,
you hold onto me and
we grow deeper and deeper
together despite a dreary
part of November.

the world is too full of people
a lot of practises, norms, traditions
something i can't get along
i have had it in me
languages, oceans, love, seasons
unfed, uncultured
i refuse to open up
to the danger living out there
it might swallow it up
i went away...i subtracted
from all the additions
and madness, jury's, promises
vows, linkages
this silence that i possess is worth a language
of speeches, made up by words
so carefully sewed by grammer, adjectives and nouns
a beautiful place - trees
love, nature, mountains ..child's careless laughter
open yet so concealed
souls sees it - dances it with the sensations
coming out ..like a sun amidst dark clouds
i stay like i care least
shrugging off everything ..and everyone
not of that, not of this
in my heart..i contain all
feeling of beauty ..feltful sadness
converted into deep joys
rivers, cold glaciers into melting snow .
there is much that can be spoken about
it's only..silences in me
take me along..much more
than language with such torn up words

the women of the past keep
phoning.
there was another yesterday
arrived from out of
state.
she wanted to see
me.
I told her
"no."

I don't want to see
them,
I won't see them.
it would be
awkward
gruesome and
useless.

I know some people who can
watch the same movie
more than
once.

not me.
once I know the
plot
once I know the
ending
whether it's happy or
unhappy or
just plain
dumb,
then

for me
that movie is
finished
forever
and that's why
I refuse
to let
any of my
old movies play
over and over again
for
years.

the goldfish sing all night with guitars,
and the ****** go down with the stars,
the ****** go down with the stars
I'm sorry, sir, we close at 4:30,
besides yr mother's neck is *****,
and the ****** go down with the etc.,
the whrs. go dn. with the etc.
I'm sorry jack you can't come back,
I've fallen in love with another sap,
3/4 Italian and 1/2 ***,
and the ****** go
the ****** go
etc.
from "All's Normal Here" - 1985