Maybe we you us But not everyone except Everyone else seemingly set One could romanticize the shipbells Out of somebody else's grocery, sex shopping, life cleaning, bills Of sail. When they had fresh grapefruit it was nothing like you not having Scurvy, with or without the vodka. Your friends Did they still say things (?) and the masses— No, one didn't want to picture that vast Writhing. Self-love is better left to this selective peculiar: One shelf over, top shelf. The yeats, the years, none of it More real than this. The judgment, the particular partings: Reading a new yorker article about you. Reading. An article. A small monster at my toe. There was once a long lusty list but The only thing s/he had on me was feet. I went to course, to game, to College. The epiphany was not worth dwelling (placement word of Your choice here). Not to speak of, or the her, him, him before him, your last Lover but, "seeing someone else right now"? Mostly, the possessive pronoun "Her" in the next clause. Whose unfairness? Be spoken and be longing. (An embarrassment of melons and heavily salted meats.) The thing you will miss was being sexy, you will forget that you went Forgetting all along; the whole ride. Going, going. Not coming. Reading, Too closely, will fail my the measure of some treasure You believe exists, but how? Morning was the only mooring: feeling, Thinking, seeing no one. Right Now. Or now. Barely tolerated, living.
with her unearned admixable beauty
she sat up on the porch and asked for (f)light;
answerable only to poetry—
and love—to make it thru the greyblue night
blew smoke into words and even whiter ghosts
that could see what others in this broad dark
could not: she set to make of nothing most,
better: an everenlightening mark:
ghost gave her this: a piece of flint: that if
you rubbed the right way,
the lightlessness would come down, give up, lift—
and then there would be nothing left to say.
o sterilize the lyricism of
my sentence: make me plain again my love