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THE ONE WHO DOES NOTHING WINS
Those who clean and press their clothes, take several showers a day, mark their calendars, buy cars, purchase tickets, stock up on shampoo, take vacations in groups, seeing what is recommended to see,...
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IT WILL BE NOTHING
Why are you afraid of the future? It will be nothing. You won’t know it until after it’s happened. What will seem like something will be the lag in your perception, the important feeling merging with...
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MOMENTS AGO
Look at this tract of ordinary grass panting under the sun. Keats died moments ago. The Romantics, they say, afflicted by sentiment and rhyme, belong to leafy, less modern times. They were meandering...
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GOD IS ANYTHING
God is anything which exists both inside and outside the universe. When either outside or inside the universe is the prevailing fact, you have death. What can reach inside the universe from outside...
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AS SOON AS THERE WAS MUSIC
As soon as there was music, the world became two in terms of philosophical love, and consciousness became a conspiracy. It was brand new. Confidence which allowed more confidence blew up in Man....
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WISDOM IS A SWORD POINTED AT YOURSELF
What is it like to be wise? How do you know you are wise? Exasperated by the stupid and slow is the only way, unfortunately, you know. Showing up the stupid is bound to offend. The murder of wisdom is...
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DO YOU KNOW ME WELL ENOUGH TO KNOW I LOVE YOU?
Do you know me well enough to know I love you?The hanging summer (vines, tendrils, and flowers) is dividedinto an infinite number of parts. We don’t know themexcept as parts—stretching into a...
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TURTLE
This turtle is someone’s pet. They put wheels under him and put him on the internet. This poem will be sentimental, I bet. He’s small. He stretches out his neck, looking up at the cat, indifferent to...
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LISTENING TO VIVALDI
Those of you who care about music and the years will realize music hasn’t changed much since 1700. The world, to be the world, was created instantaneously, otherwise it could not be the world. If a...
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WAS IT WRONG?
Was it wrong to make my poems personal? Is the poet always writing the poem— and never the person writing the poems? Yes, I think it is so. I’ve written many poems. And I know. The poet must fly above...
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IN THE SUMMER WHEN THE AIR IS STILL
In the summer when the air is still and there is no breeze and the night remains warm, there is not much the sweaty poet can do but watch Laurel and Hardy and write bad poetry. Summer is for bad...
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THERE IS A CERTAIN TYPE I OFFEND
There is a certain type I offend with my Romanticism without end. This woman (a stranger on the internet) wants my poetry to be true, without vague references to sensuality and you. “Be realistic. Use...
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THE FAME OF JULY
Climbing July will die. This is the lesson we never heed. Learning burned by July, what’s the need? We buried ourselves in a watermelon seed and kissed at the family reunion a woman we met at the...
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I WAS WHAT I WAS
I was what I was to get through my life but now that my life is almost done I feel lonely and alone. I now despise my poems and my lies. I now hate the groin I groan for when it’s late, the sorrow and...
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WHY?
Why does evil have a high IQ?This was a question I never put to you.But good people never know what to do.I thought I knew what my good fortune meant.I kissed you, but otherwise I was mostly silent....
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REMEMBER THE HEROIN IN ‘A MINOR’?
The contest was never mentioned but it was always there. The poet understood too late he was not terse enough and now is in despair. The poet from his youth sang and was wildly praised when discovery...
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DARLING, DARLING, LET’S NOT TALK ABOUT THIS PLEASE
The bad news is you have the Woke Mind Virus. The good news is it cannot be detected by who you are. You can like “Please Come to Boston.” Or “People Are Strange.” It doesn’t matter whether you are...
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PARADISE ISLE
On Paradise Isle I forgot how to smile. I almost cried the sea was so wide. I do nothing but sit where butterflies flit by the sunlit bay where slowly, slowly dies the day in a melancholy eternity....
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D’ART ET D’HISTOIRE
Art and history poisoned meand almost ruined my poetry.I was saved by an ancient philosophyknown loosely as the Socratic.There's still a few of those books in my attic.I was cowardly enoughto...
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THE DEFINITION
The definition was modified by things unable to define and this is how they defined my poetry. I was a radical in those days. I couldn’t have been more direct in my thinking, but poetry sidetracked me...
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