But why should monkeys concern us?

the bone bared and hack-sawed through
muscle parts pulled gently over the end

The great poet Calphoglus was not merely that peerless pedagogue of speech and dream with whom we are all so well acquainted. He was (and this is but one of the many obscure and hushed-up sides in the lives of poets) a great, nay, a very great, musician as well. 

1. Three men. Two of them seated. The third, standing with his back turned to the room’s only window, permits his beautiful eyes to stray across an infinite space. His right arm is extended, as if he were saying something, as if there were something he wanted to say.

   —What have you got there? I ask.
   He turns to me:
   —Lettere d’amore, he tells me.

The small American town, lost amid the limitless reaches of the Ayrton plains, found itself bereft of the profound tranquility to which it had been accustomed since the days, rather recent after all—say around 1867—of its founding. 

My breakfast, Tang and Instant Quaker Oats,
I devoured in a rest stop somewhat off the road,

Amarillo is Texas to me.
Houston is an oil derrick dwarfing James Dean.
Dallas is John Kennedy dying.

This is not Dante. 
This is a photograph of Dante. 
This is a film showing an actor who pretends to be Dante.