And upstairs: rock stars, dictators,
complexly drawn women in armor,
the dead, the poor, and so and so—

And your death taught its debt
who escaped your life?

For now labor must be done
by the poor from the planets of sleep,

though who would kick beauty in the teeth? (O bitter
      aftertaste!)

Sheen on your hair on the back of your book
jacket. Intellect’s steel, perhaps I said.
My friend and teacher until we did not talk,

O Life Life Life
I yelled to the mohel’s knife

And day fades to mind: a purple
drugged on lush, sweet,
thick late summer.

This fact shamed, appalled, excited —
like some beautiful stranger one hunted when one was
      young,

He taught what fathers teach,
but not the dew and if

Ultimate, white-haired
bandaged at the eyes like judgement
you lie at the hospital stainless faucets and the pipes