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Peggy GuggenheimThe Peggy Guggenheim of Our GenerationThere are times whenI think you are thePeggy Guggenheimof our generationPassionatein your pursuitof creation and theof creatorsof the beautifuland symbolic languagesof their generationYour need for thecenter of subscriptionto lie down withyour ear close to the mouthof the oraclelistening toit speakand breathein it\'s silent moments
Coming and GoingA flock of nuns huddling backward through the street, shaking like birds in the wind so that the shiver ripples through them from rear to front cooling their skin beneath their damp habits, chanting Latin in reverse softly to themselves so that the words begin with the sweet whisper of sibilant esses and end in the loud blunt edges of beginnings. They round the corner cackling with the sound smooth wooden rosary beads against the violent zenith of unrepentant traffic running reverse through puddled up intersections and traffic lights that flash green, amber, red. Incense issues into them, the smell of old panties or dirty socks retreating under the rippling hoops of their habits up into the weak corners of aging armpits and stale unused vaginas. The huddle of nuns disappears splashing around a corner, the first last and the last first, and for a moment there is only the brightness of a falling sun reflected from the chrome of a well shined bumper still wet from the rain that washe
Letter in VerseIf I could write you somethingas complicated as calico cats(shy as genes receding)I wouldfind a way to make thisas delicate as dustacross the surfaceof an imperfect planetindented from impactwith the interstellarI wouldmake this as flatas planes or as straightas lines if I knew howto beat all the timesto run a perfect milefour bloodlessbreathless revolutionsdrawn to a pointand set to danceall along the headof a stainless steel pinbut all I can draware curvesand all I can paintare squaresso that you will have to settlefor rudely crafted circlesfull of poorly painted squaresa child\'s scribblein place of the long eleganceof ells and effsthe crude scribbleof subway wallsand bathroom stallsthe disjointed syntax of prophetsand liars where the well paced wordsof poets and lyres might do just as wellor betterWhat do I have to offer in return?with hands as bare as beggarsand soft as speechless children?Nothing but the attentionof a ragged dreamerred
Moments During a Lunch HourMoments During a Lunch HourFat coffee pots steamstuttering amongst themselveslike contented hensgap toothed glass rackssmile back when pulled, losing teethone drink at a timethe receipt printerchitters like nervous mice whensomeone\'s about to leave
The Translucence of MotionThe Translucence of MotionThere is an ash haired angellaying pallid and palenaked and bruisedin straight sheetswith stiff cornersto cut an unwary tongueThe room is full ofthe sound of sheetsagainst his skinrustling paper in a dry summer windHe is rolling over on the morningclosing his eyes to the sunresting beneath the whitedreamingThicknesses and layersmeasured breath and multiple meaningsbehind the words she speaksDreamingsharp eyed smilesand the charred thrill of climbing thighsand beating heartsIn the bed his body bendswithout premeditation or permissionHe cuts himself a thousand timeson the sharpness of his sheetstracing the translucenceof his motion
Blasphemers[Night. Denny's. Three 19 year olds in a booth, table covered in coffee cups and clutter. Jack and John go to State U. Donny goes to community college.]Jack: You know what I was thinkin' about?John: Seals?Jack: Bark bark.Donny: You were thinking about dogs?Jack: No Donny, seals bark too.Donny: Seals bark?John: What were you thinking about?Jack: Moses.John: What about him?Jack: I was thinking about the middle east and all that bullshit and I was thinking about the Red Sea, and how like Moses parted it. That mutherfucker parted the Red Sea. Like, do you have any conception of how large a task that is? I mean, it's one thing to see him do it in cartoons, but to have parted the Red Sea, like that's some mutherfuckin' talent.John: He didn't part the red sea.Jack: He did fuckin' too. It's in Exodus. Imagine that shit, imagine how much fucking water that. I mean, when they show it in cartoons you don't get a real sense of that, but like, the Red
Horses Saviors and SmokeHorses, Saviors, and SmokeWalking out of the heat and greaseI watched smoke from a buildingtwist like a flag in the windforever disappearing into the watery blueGetting off the freewayI saw road signs hang like saviorson municipal crossesDriving home through the coldI watched houses climb silhouetted hillslike white horses mounting the moonlight
Three Minutes Before the EndThree Minutes before the End of the WorldI am hesitatingfrom holdingher hipstremblingbeneath a paper skirtin the liquid momentbefore dawnShe smells something sweetstrongerfor the water in the airsuffusing the artificial fruitinvisible in her skinHer lipsmust be fulland glossy as the mirrored moonbut all I can seeare her hipstrembling between my handsknowing thatthis is inappropriatein the middle of the streetAt three minutes beforethe end of the worldwe should do morethan dread each others'touchBut we aren'tSo she tremblesand I swearAs the world ends around usMercy St.comes alive with morning
Let it DrownLet it DrownThe single most factthat stings most\'s thatI\'ve written nothingthat\'s even worth keepingand I keep thinkingwhile you\'re all sleepingthat I\'m worth readingbut nobody interestingis encouragingme to keep printingso now I\'m just tired, a little bit jadedsomewhat irritatedcause I\'m still dreamingof all the things I want, but just can\'t havebecause it\'s all up front, not in my bagand even though I write all dayI can\'t find the right thing to saythat this things mineso maybe now it\'s timeto make shit mineWhat\'s morejust to settle the scorepeel back wounds just to make them rawI\'m still angry that I am herein my parents housewhile you\'re all outin the world throughoutand I\'m still mad \'cause it\'s so clearthat it\'s my fearthat that might keep me hereforeverand then I\'ll never leave this placeexcept for groceriesor a case of beerand I\'ll not succeedand that I\'ll end up just like youor the way you\'re actingand I don\'t like y