Watches ticking on the backs of
turtles.
Tambourines tinkling in apple
trees.
—Michael McClure
What year was that
—Lyn Hejinian
The plaza of restaurants, not the
restaurants. At the
event about
death, when seven tiny pep’o’
mint life savers fell from my
jacketpocket onto the short-
cropped carpet. My
check-
book. Next to the
giant
painting. Which I
love
more than all of the
architecture.
With Kleenex
I wipe thick sweaters
of dust off of two lightbulbs.
And then I took him to soup at
One Market (the plaza of rest-
aurants, not the restaurant).
Travel arrangements for
London and for Tokyo
soon. But tonight we
celebrate a new season
at (the now-defunct)
Energie. Unfortunate-
ly, I’m just not into it
because I know all too
well that Italy exists.
As most everything else
crumbles into dust, my
checkbook glows under
the newly-cleaned light-
bulbs next to the giant
painting which I love.
