She was only a woman, and no more 
than his latest wife who was commanded 
not to come before him without the grant

Cézanne has placed a surly easel
in what is still not there.
He feels the geology of absence,

I wish I had one of those electronic keyboards where you can plug in pre-recorded sounds that correspond to different keys. I’d compose an homage to insomnia— barking dogs and hammer blows and car alarms played over and over, the inverse of a lullaby‚ a score without a shred of respite.

You were gravely pulling up his best necktie,
Smoothing down his collar for that calm journey.
He drew off the body. a limp, soiled garment,

Sometimes, even when it feels necessary, it’s hard to improve
  upon, much less “Revolutionize Your Life” — as some
  people, somewhat grandiosely, tend to phrase it;

A sub- or super-sensibility,
exquisitely fine-tuned, can summon up
special information, specially told:

They called it a landslide as though 
everything shifted and the weak 
and strong alike were buried alive.

In Klee’s “Mural from the Temple of Longing”
Thick, dark arrows from each skyscraper window
Head “thither” in opposite directions, into

It was hard climbing in the stifling heat
With my enormous belly up that hill
But, probably, the belly stood me well.

Achilles is tired of crying. 
It occurs to him
one day in June