mmmmdccxv

“I Have a Diary.” “Do You Write in Yours?”

This last poem is like the meeting
at the train station in the firebrand
television show about people who
work with no memory of their lives

and who also live without any sign
ificant memory of what they do. 

Astounding in precision, heartbreak

ing and then liberating. It’s the liberation 

we’re working ourselves up to here. In 

this tawdry diary. Oh, don’t feign that 

you never knew. The essence of all this
is but a record of existence. Not a cold

and scientific record, no. One with all of
the foibles of a 13-year old’s locked journal.

[after several attempts] “Such Childish Habits!”