The First Law of Entanglement: From the Swimming Pool Where You Drowned, to an Underworld Hospital, to Your .357 Magnum Sinking Down Forever to the Harbor Bed




At the harbor, in the smallest hour of this
(Death stuff for sure), this softly tendered now, the Youngest Day,
this silvery clarion blast:	   I have no distance.

Free flow if you can through your very own little
reckoning:  10 yrs. ago today, as of this attosecond:  this area is not me.  
For I am sick unto death of your single deranged sense,  

so much light leaking away @2  minutes_  to_  midnight,
that I feel outside my body just before the 	factory steam whistle 
has blasted all 3 of us away.  

                                                                     As of that blooming, 
2 minutes from here, 10 years away, you’re my only witness.
& I’m yours, seconds from this drowned quantum (I feel
fragmented) in which we’ve been entangled for years,

seconds, days ago, forever.  All I did 	was sink into my own brain
which sucks the orange pregnant moonlight out of our wept corners,	
body inanimate, damp, dead—

continue to bleed us into these saturated rooms.
For I feel foreclosed.  I feel you collapsed on the quiver, on the dive, on the sink.
I feel edited but I don’t have the access code.

For you tug at my trigger-finger just so.
                                                               For the second shift of bodies
has been long underway . . . 

1 It’s Sunday night, Feb. 12, 1994             It’s been zero degrees all weekend. I’ve been having a lot of strange fantasies about buying a .38 special at a pawn shop. I’ll cut out the middle of some secret old book where it can be hidden.

Related Poems

Elegy with Clothes

All of your giant beige bras
floated up into the atmosphere.
Blue eggs fell down the chimney;
the porch,
losing its screened-in mind,
caved in.
I mistake one living cell for another.
Hand on the mallet
of my life—
you come
detonating midair
with your own grief—
it’s not even mine.

I watch mice eat through everything,
their droppings
like beads of hashish.
The world begins as
a wolf tied to a flower.

Can you see how it happens
like that?
Something too violent
is attached to something
too living?