So I don’t think I’ll work today. Today it seems best
To let this bench hold my end up. Today
Of what my part was, brooding

Lateness is all that shimmers in the leaves,
that trembles in the bending grass,
that glistens on the berries on the vine.

It had to be some poet from Brazil
not one of the greatest, more likely to make a fool of himself
shuffling around somewhere in your vicinity or aspiring to dwell there

Two sharp eminences with a valley between
Through which the erratic witness of a loosened tongue
Flows to the sea: Mount M__________. Mark it well.

All bubbles travelling

In tubes, and being lights:  up down and around
 They were:  blue,  red and every man uncaught

Too much of a subject can interfere,
Be a drag, so subvert the procedure to which it refers
That the wisest course is to visit it just for fun,

Because dusk comes in not long
after 5 o’clock in Chelsea
and lamps come to life, a gold

“Now, I must tell you of our grandeur,”
she’d written. “We are going to have
a Turkey!!! carpet in the dining room . . .

She gave me the car and two
hundred dollars. Said, So long, baby.
Take it easy, hear? So much

The scenes that were on the inside of his ribs,
when he willed them outward, they appeared,
tattooed, in front, behind, strips of pictures