I’m overjoyed with a headache, or
to the point of headache as blue boats
flicker on the whitewaters in a flippant
haze. Scooping up the torn curtains.
A terse Monday, better than ages. Old
friends meet all decorated for Christmas.
Us old hams entirely too serious,
hoping to be referred to something
chocolate. “Perfect, let’s do that one,” we say,
and “What a year to disappear!” Deja vu
with Bill. The seemingly most important
warmth with a charge to the florist. A
pancake head. It feels like a stomping.
Not a feeling but an impression.
Notice the Guston cigar, ask him if he’s
teaching an evening course before
slipping into the sauna (I never do that!).
Step forward into with the feminists
and wheelchair junkies. We need it
before 1:30. What I’m trying to say is
I got burnt out on it but now I’m trying
to reacquaint myself. Then he
tickled me until I bled. Nice passion.
