Monday, November 28, 2005

"the love of a doctor"

Each piece duly piercing
Its own consequent
Glint, each fragrant fragment

Exclamatory of its berth
In the whole and not merely another
Aspect of the whale

To be turned, that’s right
Yesterday I watched Fellini astride
A blackly garbed curve

And today a strange
Italian stranger engages
Me on the train

There are dreams and then there
Is running late
Again up Lexington, a copy

Of American Music shuffling
Mute in your bag
The startling collision

Of two men in howls
As the light finally
Changes, the sun balanced on

The pin of noon for only
Its non-moment as we both know
The limits traipse

Away in lame constructions
Of air, Giulietta is left
Fumbling after the spirits have left

Her in the same way we wear our hearts
Down to symbolism to
Symmetry to be worn to be blind

Every day is a senseless response
We don’t hold a train
Responsible for the killing

Of a man late
Saturday night, we know enough
To peer behind the bloody

Body at the Body
Politic and what appears
Carelessly lodged in

Its teeth, it is said
A man lives by his tooth and I
Feel compulsively too

Engorged by the signals
Of our age, Chinese
Men stand on my foot on

The way to Manhattan, I bear
A cancer of sense
To drown in the freezing

Poison, I hear
They’ve got Bison in Golden
Gate Park and I have

The love of a doctor who
Herself is learning to love a premise
Of mine, somewhere the maize

Is flattened beneath
My car and my car is the promise
Of emptiness, of a treachery

Forgone as I still rail
Against an empty
Twitching coda, so if you will

Gently tip the assemblage
I will breathe
My torrent once


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