THE SECRET IDENTITY OF THE BOY

39

There is no need

for a backcloth crowded
with happenings, it

is already unwelcome

to me to recall
so much feeling

If there is a suture, a word
that bridges, that
laughs at its necessity

it is this
one: already

40

Let’s go crazy

I am my
mother’s child, drawn
to avoid good

timing, an initiate
of dreams, remunerator
of objects

to which I earnestly
address myself

I can’t tell

if it’s a metaphor
when the rapper asks

Can I live?

41

To say that language
kills does not
distort the truth—I don’t

believe in magic, but I do
believe in Jack Spicer

I’ve been losing
days this month, tomb
days, a squid

embracing an octopus gracing
the wall, pigeons
sleeping on the sill

but I know the secret
identity of the boy

who buried the forgeries
in a rusted antique can

of tooth powder
and that’s got

to count for something