A HISTORY OF SECRETS

30

I thought
to people

the poem
to a ripping

point only
to find it

taut again—
pirouette

31

Oakland to Brooklyn—

The paradox: through attention
one becomes altogether

distracted, adrift
amidst the configurations

as bodies insist and persist

The woman once
asleep in her
green shirt startles

into seeing

I read Creeley on Whitman
Wright on Louise
Baudelaire on inebriation

Tenebrous light on my lap
arriving from the wing

cabin arid

descent
iridescent

32

(today)

They took down the Psychic sign
but the homeless man persists

in his hunt for visions

mouth and nose enveloped
by a bobbing brown bag

(many months previous)

A man named Hans
was limping
in the marathon

I was crying
I always cry

at marathons

(death)

We feel greener as pain
dutifully circulates

futile little
flowers bending

interiorly

(tomorrow)

Kirsanov, Cavalcanti, Franju

33

It was a concrete poem
a snail in light bulbs

While the lovers were out
of focus they multiplied

The homeless blond tipped
into the river as cats

watched from the drainpipe

Paris and Peking
were the only cities left
with names

Baudelaire claimed urchins
were able to read

time in the eyes
of stray cats

34

Chance enchants

Watched a hippie self-destruct
and smoked my last rooster

When we choked
ourselves as children
we had no idea

we were initiating a politics
of consciousness

we had no idea
we were initiating a history

of secrets, though

we were well
aware of the redundancy

Becoming a fly
means making tremendous sense

Becoming an eye
means secreting invisibilities

I’m not really flying I’m thinking!