Trying to get it all out. It’s not
poetry anymore but a trashcan full of
7-Up, Wild Grape, Double-Shot, and
more Wild Grape. Rubens & Brueghel.
“In the past I have declined to comment
on my own work because, it seems to me,
a poem is what it is...” Schuyler so
much better than this latté. My back to the
brick wall and nothing else but a face with
what from this distance looks like a
glass of milk. It is 8:41 (a glacier,
a bulldozed landscape, a golf course,
a mound of dirt, bluffs, and a crag)—
I’m centered. With his hand down my pants.
