I fix every kind of stab wound, fractured clavicle,
gold teeth sliced out of sleeping mouths for trophy
earrings, all paranoia's graffiti pleading. Doc please

In a sense,
Jack and Manuel were starting over again.
Jack, a Romanian Jew who designed our house, 

In the garden. Sun
on the river
flashing past. I

are all we have. So count them as they pass. They pass 
too quickly 
out of breath. Don’t dwell on the grave which yawns for  

twas the night before Columbus Day, ’70
and the humidity gave a semblance
of warmth to a day not unchilly, even somewhat clammy.

Dear Kenward,
                              What a pearl
of a letter knife. It’s just

We were wise to say.
Goodbye, cheap lamps

The search for health and pleasure
leads to no fairer clime

We cannot fight on this glue
give us the bread we are used to

There is a hornet in the room
and one of us will have to go