Let us enter this again. In the context of this paragraph,
we are hurtling backward through space, toward a small
opening: I press my hand to your lip and you bite. You bite
my spine. Ben his jawline was stellar. Ben his curlicue.
His cellphone iPhone. His and everyone’s iPhone, in my hand,
on my lap, at the mezzanine. The opera is going full speed.
The soprano arrives to tell Falstaff, to tell him. I fall
from a great height onto a woman’s head. It splits and I
become the split, standing later for a portrait. The hero
of the town walks alone at night, carrying in his eye a single
feather. He wears this feather in his eye as a kind of penance.
For his bravery many men will die for many years to come
Fear and Loathing (Comin’ and Goin’)
I come to party, I show up alone,
I feel the beat on my feet, and I’m soloing.
I sing sunshine hits in the club.
Sunshine hits baby. That’s just how I live, lawd—
And Lord was like—
I fled the scene,
done all I possibly could. The way it works is,
sunshine hits something and so, there is something.
Gradually, you become unlike that something
You used to hold. I had held a cassette tape
in my hands, had held
a church in my hands,
had held it with heavy hands, had felt love
Like adrenaline, to which no one in the church spoke.
I had heard music emanating
from a cassette player, had heard it in church,
had looked into the pastor’s eyes, had held her eyes
In my hands, had felt her love like a fee.
what your poems are about. Whatever it is
got me laughing.