the poet’s work of late daytime keeps
poetic inevitability at bay (such a vague
redemption). sitting toward Stratton
once again having been frazzled
much of the day I sit myself on my
owner’s manual while reading a
dissertation on labor (dropped
with gifts at my office late yesterday)
and so I had dinner & chatted w/him.
carrying him home the next evening
the diner lady wouldn’t let us in (I’m
trying to be as cordial as I can and
reiterating how happy and faithful I am).
then I watch a bird fly into a window.
this analogy is particularly re
vealing if we say we are going to die
in a few weeks, like he does, verbatim.
