"the anger of wanting less"

The hum of the desktop or

The thought that if I was
A character on
A sitcom I’d want to

Be named Chris, would gleefully secret
Your name into the second
Season unknown, because as soon

As one arrives at the idea
Of God, everything
Changes, the docent confessed

She couldn’t speak
Finland, Richard Tuttle
Embraced purposeful

Failure, the stripper
At the titty bar said I didn’t look
Like a poet and I made it

To the airport without
Throwing up, it was then that
I realized I would never die

Simply to come back
New, to know
The ugliness of wishing all

The same things in different
Ways, we must all
Make up the necessary

Will to insist on grace from time
To time, to shirk
The furrowed instructions

Of the calendar and blow
Noisily through the anger of wanting
Less, I see the way we

Wane without
Impertinence, grow slight
In our retiring, today

I saw every blood
Vessel inside
A dead human and was

Wrenched by the beauty
Of it, a constellation
Of tremulous antlers crowded

By economy, one
Can confirm
An ideal correspondence

Or ponder the slew
Of schoolchildren pawing one
Another into squeals as

The 6
Approaches, I refuse
To discriminate

Between different modes
Of knowing, knowing as I
Do the breadth

Of such inadequacy