I (the stone) go (don’t
blind you!              even 
                                  know

The woman was involved with how she looked.
The man was busy writing.

as my own noise’s, no
one’s,
listening,

The doorbell so
Lost
        in the wall, the telephone

You
and
me

I seldom remember what
someone was wearing
what color their eyes are

Peaceful room,
peaceful blanket,
large pillow, cold,

I don’t want to write the great American novel
And set people walking across the pages of a book
Doing things like sweating on page 4, praying on page 45,

I used to believe that nobody was really crazy.
That people were all basically good. Sometimes it was
A question of coaxing them, a little, but in the end

The Knight of the Trepan is Christ, who lives in me and who passes through my skull day after day like a needle. He wears leather breeches that resemble English silks. His face is encased in a helmet that shows only two glass eyes and a mouth with moving wet lips.