Thursday, April 22, 2010

Washington Square Park on April 2, 2010

Like dark armies peaceful in the spring sun
step with their breath and the wind blows
trash, foil red and silver, into tree-trunks—
warm shoes in the hot breeze, Prima donna,
please love me.
A baby is rolling by,
bare foot up in the hot breeze, solemnly,
forehead wrinkled; men and women
shouldering each other among the trash, trash,
breathing stepping breathing, step breath step,

friction in the sun, nothing
but now is, but now’s nothing—is it? Trash,

trash, step, breath, step. My name
is Memory, come follow me
around the trash; you’re mine.
Step
breath step, no, no. Hey,
Moment, you own me,
and the eyes that fell and him smiling,
matrimony in the breezes, hey,
he fell she fell will you marry me
I have a short dress can I
breathe on unbuckle you can I
step heavy trash hear me can I
Follow me, my name is
step trash the heavy wind and I

hallowed be your name

Look, Daddy. I’ve
drawn you a picture, a picture
of you. Isn’t it
awesome? Your cute nose
slid away when I got
distracted (my pen slipped) but
otherwise I did
a good job don’t you think
Daddy? I think
I draw almost as well as you
or even better (except the nose
but that’s all right)—
I got the eyes just right,
the bluegreen, the mouth,
chin, neck, ear-
lobes. I like the way
I did that mole,
that wrinkle there,
there’s glory! on my page!
Daddy,
can I get a twenty?
Michael’s is having a frame sale—
Thanks.

1 John 4:13

Yes, but did you see the fat gray dog. Did you?
I have heard that you are here and heard you here.
Here [points to the heart] but
when I’m amid concrete and crowds I feel alone.
When I turn the leaves of another man’s mind
and see your branches yellowing in the fall wind—
alone. I feel. The fat gray dog rolls jerkily
along the grass and I smile but who laughs solo.
Do you? A man across the way is looking over,
I think he has seen my silent ranting in the skull, oh God—
he comes to tell me you want me to know
he has seen the dog: no fear, no fear.

John 17:3

It was gray the day he called me
on the telephone. Hey, he said; I said,
Hey. It was an unfamiliar number.
Who’s this? he asked. I laughed.
You’re not very funny, I answered.
He paused. Depends on your style.
Can we have dinner tonight?
I said, Whoa. Look,
you sound cool and kind of familiar but
isn’t it a little soon?

You don’t understand, he said;
I know you. Don’t you recognize
my voice?
I stopped. The phone froze cold
and my heart was burning. Oh my God—

Hosea

Lifted up, my heart dashed suicidal
almost at the earth, the caked dirt, I saw
her spread before me like a withered wife
exposed, cigarette burns between cut-marks, and her
head / twisted, chin and jaw thrust
in hunger’s fury, limp hands limp, and
a low-moan dangerous
rage.

Wife? I whispered,
and her green eyes / snapped.

Burger King

My generation is princesses
plagued by kings eying their dress size, and princes
trying to eye through the dress with their hands.
Brother, do you know me?
Father, do you know what you’ve done? demanding
holy fasts across lands for the stately sake of your daughter’s
weight.

Chivalry

Don’t want you to know
that I know
that your poop smells (I know,
the situation stinks) so
I put on a brave face.