It’s the willed trick of concentration
  that makes of these heat-heavy
bogged declivities —the graves of

He looked beneath the rock to find the god
that he had hidden there—that's Oscar
Wilde on Wordsworth's Sublime,

Hunkered, totally

spaced, in the half-open door of the fridge
with my trifocals fogging, scanning the five

  No sleep for either of us on the flight to
Maine and then to Gatwick. From the train, backyard
allotments and cooperatives, the city hardly

  Left to itself, setting is the chance that
something good might happen. A highway runs the
length of the peninsula. The suburbs overlap.

If you cannot make a living from your art,
double the art, double any part

(but not the whole)

If my enticement is any more monstrous today
than yesterday, if it builds any more power
into its sides, if its red-gold plush

    Heaven bribes me;
But for a dream
I have only to lie down.

Of those who finally win notice,
of these artists it is said their early work
is either purer, more astounding,

Watching a rerun of the movie favorite
Where a dejected naval would-be hero
Hangs himself in a unit of the aquamarine