canyons lined in blue waters: four collections

8/9/2019 Canyons Lined in Blue Waters: Four Collections

1/70

“Canyons Lined in Blue

Waters: FourCollections”

Adam Fieled

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:O%27Keeffe_Georgia_Ram%27s_Head.jpg


2/70

Wolf’s Hour: Carnal

Apparition Poems

http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-56tK34DA1oE/T_8sGXstMeI/AAAAAAAAB8w/bXOhEMke9uM/s1600/Mary'sPainting.jpg


3/70

#555

Wood-floored bar on Rue St. Catharine— you danced, I sat, soused as Herod,sipped vodka tonic, endless bland

medley beltin out of the !ukebo"— you smilin, I occupied keepin you happy,un-fra##led— suddenly sounds behind us,the bar $asn%t cro$ded & a patron'rakish, $hisker-flecked bi mouth(lifted a forefiner at beer-belliedbartender bitchin back, soon a realfiht, violence in )uiet midniht,I, scared, ot you out of there

but you had to dance, you said,had to dance so $e paved *lateau, tense steps,

found nothin, you started cryin & stampin your feet like a child, I rabbed you & draedyou back to our room you stripped, curledinto fetal position, beat your fists aainstthe mattress, in this $ay you dancedthrouh the niht, do#ed & $oke ready for more—


4/70

#1473

*assaes that shudder bet$eenblackness bet$een les bet$een $hat moves 'taps head( bet$een

us like this 'taps head aain( hintsshe may not be the animal bride I%mlookin for 'by this I mean seed carrier,not the same as mother-for-kids, almost(, $hat%s bet$een $hat used to be bet$een

us, $hat no$ is, is bet$een her, others $hohave more claim to be animal brides, but she%shere, that%s the key, here no$, actually, $hich may be all that matters, if to matter is to lie back, lesapart, bet$een bein, becomin, movin, removin all barriers, fences, boundaries, e"penses to move aain.


5/70

#1328

+he irl on the trolley had pitch black hair,eyes to match, I ot

her vibes instantly— so, $hat do $e $ant to do o $e $ant to dothis Is it /

took her back heretook her clothes off took her not ently

I%ll never take the 01 aain—


6/70

#1327

She said, you $ant Sister2overs, you son of a bitch,pouted on a beie couch in

*lastic City, I said, I $antSister 2overs, but I%m nota son of a bitch, and I canprove it 'I drooled slihtly(,took it out and $e madesuch spectacular love thatthe couch turned blue fromour intensity, but I had to $ear a mask because I%dbeen $arned that this irl $as, herself, a son of a bitch—


7/70

#1546

What a tussle it $as, Icould only see her eyes,tiny bits of red above,

stark, blank blueness, Ifelt animal fear bet$eenus, but a poltereist $aspushin our bodies intoone another, dead fleshinhabited by spirits, forthe time nothin camefrom our mouths, deadliveliness, deep into the $olf%s hour this $ent on— our eyes couldn%t close.


8/70

#512

as if I $ould strike you,as if I, myself, $ere pushin your face a$ay, fists livid

aainst yr soft, $asp-y cheeks.in some other $orld my partsbear nectar, my hands claspyour o$n like $onted shelter.in some other dream youreyes don%t free#e but melt,suar cubes smashed by liht.


9/70

#1557

Since you are a scorpionthat stins herself to death,after so many stins, redness

never leaves my !oints, I feel#ilch. I call this your passionatetime, as I have no intent oftemptin the scorpion aain.I%ve seen nests for you all over*hilly, from 3ront Street rihtup to 4altimore, and you kno$ $hat 5ou miht finally et thedeath you $ant. 6 sultry niht,desert all around, les akimbo.


10/70

#1529

I%m havin a better time no$,I told her, its unfortunate thatyou $ere happier fifteen years

ao, but you certainly had yourchance, those days $e sat ne"teach other different places, andof course your best friend theidiot, 7ueen of Sheba, no$ hereyou are back hot to fool around,suddenly I call the shots, I%m areal hot-shot, there%s a shot $emiht actually shoot each other,because violence is $hat you $ant— she un#ipped her dress, fro$nin.


11/70

#1121

Ho$ I $anted her89verythin pointedme into her—

ossamer silk over her belly black pantieshead turnedto$ards me—

I nailed her to my $all,I nailed her—

she never forave me


12/70

#1065

4lack-shirted,briht eyes indream-blues,

parents deadof a car crash,I kissed her solon I felt as if I $ould crash,South Streetloud aroundus, lips soft—


13/70

#1313

$e can%t stop tryin to conceive,even thouh our bodies are deadto each other, and nihtly deaths

I took for ranted are ra#ors in apart of my flesh thatcan never live aain—

certain possessions possess us.


14/70

#1316

Hunters et smitten $ith their prey,but to kill is such an ama#in rush $ho could possibly resist, I%m into

these thouhts because you da##leme a$ay from $ords into your redpulpy depths, $hich I resent, but Ican do nothin about, because youhave nails in your cunt and crucifi"in your mouth, $hen I come I%m aperfect personal :esus, but the ashis all yours, did I mention I love you


15/70

#1342

What%s in $hat eyes What I see in hers is

mi"ed reenish silence,some$hat arish, it%spast irlish 'not much(,but I can%t touch herflesh 'set to self-destruct(,anymore than she canunderstand the book her cunt is, that no onereads directly, or speaksof, there%s no love otherthan ;could be,< but Ithink of her throat cut—

that%s her slice of smut.


16/70

#1497

nothinness ro$s vast,nothinness tastes s$eet

only for ten seconds— of

this, depth $ithout depth,crass substitute for realmsof total lory she effaces

'once spilled milk cries(like a chalk-stain on blue!eans, a !ust-smoked !oint.


17/70

#1070

I said, ;I can%teven remember

the last time I $as e"cited, ho$ can I associateideas<

She pulledout a un, a tubeof oil, and an aircushion,

and it $asa spontaneousoverflo$,

po$erfully

felt, in $hich $ereaped toether—


18/70

Credits

The Argotist (UK)— 1327, 1328

dener s!nt" — 1473, 1497

$re"t %or&s (UK)— 1065, 1070

'ori"— 1529

* ost— 535, 1342

A++ in+-ded .oe's /ere "+so in+-ded in the +"eo .rint oo& A.."ritionoe's, irst .-+ished in -ne 2010

Coer ."inting ! "r! "r:-, 2008


19/70

“Terse as this is: eta!Poetry”

Adam Fieled

http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jtuZlixsOBY/UE5c-7OsvvI/AAAAAAAACPM/eoV5cbEOCJ8/s1600/AbbyPainting1.jpg


20/70

A.o+ogi"

9"perimental 9nlish-lanuae poetry in the last half-century has demonstrated a vested interest in interroatin its o$n oriins. =eta-poetry, poetry $hich takes as itsthematic basis the art of composin poetry itself, has flourished, sometimes under the rubricof econstructionist literary theory, sometimes other$ise. +he scalpel avant-arde poetrytakes to itself can be intriuin— ho$ever, much poetry $ritten and published in this vein inthe last half-century suffers from various forms of impoverishment, especially tactile ones.In other $ords, this kind of poetry is $ont to become lost in abstractions, and lose thetactile sense not only of harmonious lanuae but of imaery and metaphor. What thepoems in this collection attempt to accomplish is 'to use a homely metaphor( not to thro$out the baby $ith the bath-$ater. +he imperative to interroate lanuae is balanced $ith animperative to make memorable poetry $hich employs old tropes, techni)ues, and topos innovel $ays. +hus, it is a meta-poetry $hich does not need to disavo$ narrative sense.


21/70

#1335

terse as this is, it isiven to us in bitscarelessly shorn

from rocky slopes,of this I can only say nothin comes $ith thins built in,it%s al$ays sharp edes,crevices, cras, precipice,abrupt plunes into ;$ants,< $hat subsists bet$een ushappens in canyons linedin blue $aters $here thisslides do$n to a densebottom, I can%t retrieve

you t$ice in the same $ay, it must be tersebecause real is terse,tense because it%s sofrail, pine cones heldin a child%s hand, snapped.


22/70

#1084

*oems are train-$recksthat move— to stand

on tracks, to do so solidly, is

suicide of a hih order—

to die by force of $reckae—


23/70

#1117

Sometimes you $ritefrom ocean%s bottom,blue $aters bury you,

an octopus comes toive you ink, tentacle $ords, fortitude for

battles to et back onthe surface, $here youmust fiht to et past

!ellyfish blocks, tears—


24/70

#1083

Is art slihtly lessstupid than every-thin else

I am more moved by flesh, andstupidly,

ho$ easily some skinpeels off

layers of te"t— ;company of blood,<2ucy on a bed

$ith diamonds—


25/70

#1134

It is by dint of reat laborthat lines heap up on oneanother 'en!ambed or not(,

it is by dint of reat laborthat they take on the cast,die, substance that sticks,

it is by dint of reat laborthat poets must foret this,because to stick means not

to stick, it means to loosenperpetually out of rooves,let thins topple into place,

let shapes manifest slo$ly,let life meander, be rollin—


26/70

#1145

+he +o$er of >erseis a 4abel, no one paystheir rent, many leap

from $indo$s to suredeath, many leave, yetthere is a strane senseof satisfaction iven tothose $ho stay, and itis merely this—

clean $indo$sallo$ us to see $isps of smoke,'rey, red, turbid(rise from ashes—


27/70

#1288

+imes you et bored $ith the process, but

$orse are times $hen $ords are little deaths,

$run out like sheets,draped over haners,

out in a damp yard ona cold autumn day, as

$ind rises to pin themto your hopeless breast.


28/70

#1343

+his process of leapin happens bet$een lines,like a fish that baits its

o$n hooks? heihts indepth, depths of heiht,all collidin in a mesh of net cast only for a fish tobrin it do$n on itself, sothat others s$im out past— I don%t mean myself in this.


29/70

#1209

*oems $ith ;I< and ;she<are older than the ala"y,have po$er to rivet me,

because there is no ;I


30/70

#1571

+o cut riht to the bone— there is no bone in this,it%s mirrors, echoes, bits,

more than play, less than

life, but anythin limitin this needs to be chuckedlike fruit rinds into a bin,any arbitrary sinifier that

kno$s itself to be arbitrary can work as mirrors, echoes,bits, if you have faith that $hat%s ineffable counts, is.


31/70

#1549

+hink of these in termsof vertical movements— $hat oes up or doesn%t.

oes this o up It may,if it creates somethin Ifeel is not ;in the $orld<

yet, but it must also havesolid roots in the $orldto be somethin else, it

must ackno$lede $hatcan be called hori#ontal. +he best poems are #i-

#as, lihtnin bolts, thato from side to side, upat the same time. +his is

a meta-bolt, but $hetherit ;oes< is up to you alone.


32/70

#1533

So much ets involved $iththis that isn%t this, that $hatthis is ets lost, $hatever it

is, $hich no one kno$s, butthat ;I< is in it some$here'no one kno$s $here(, theremust be a ;you< 'if it%s art,as it may or may not be(, sot$o bases are covered, liket$o breasts of a mother $eanin her youn, and $hether or not $e are madeyoun by this is another ood)uestion@ $e may be, maybe.


33/70

#1563

If poetry makes nothin happen,there is no ;reat political poetry tradition,< so I ya$p no ; any-

thin< to anyone $ho is not my captain, and $hose position is notin any $ay tenable? no one 'that Ikno$( has any e"cuses, $e foreahead reardless, Aero%s fiddle issoundin in the distance, personalhabits of Romans have entered ourlives, but I have this time to $ritethis and if you like it, is it enouh


34/70

#1524

*oems@ do this every day, it

becomes like roulette $ithout

bein 'or seemin( Russian? if

you o here $hat happens, if

you move your kniht onto a

ne$ s)uare can you take all the

pa$ns 'at once, even, $hy not

be ambitious(, not everyone is

simpatico, the knihts often say

they%re kins, the board is clay.


35/70

#1601

What $ords et sent upon sharp fre)uencies arefractious, bent from pain,

Hephaestus in iron-roans, $hat oes up sticks around,so that baseBtop et covered,

all thins resonate like pitch-forks, t$eaked by conductorsbefore their final, triumphantperformance for a hall empty of bodies, filled to capacity.


36/70

#547

Spirit melts, leavinbutter particles stre$n

alon leaf-veined avenues— ho$ absurd, that it shouldbe in poetry, hidin therelike a cat in a dry bath-tub,like $ater in a drain, likeso much dark moon.


37/70

#545

Words are spirits, $ords $ordinthrouh us like

savored pulp. Words, strainedor comatose,pluckin laurelfor some lucky fuck. Substantivespirit $ords, cored &pitted, $ait to be bitlike kno$lede of ood & evil, stems.Aot a cask or a flask— some vessel from

nether reions of >enus. 9asy to bedispirited, cored,yet stem systems arepermanent. Say them.


38/70

#577

5ou can only transcribe by dyin,the thins you transcribe are dyin,

the $ay you transcribe is dyin by the time you transcribe,

so if you must transcribe,you must die, or die tryin


39/70

#1602

I stepped like a mantis off this ship

of fools, felt around for prey, found

a plate of ants to put in a micro$ave,

I sa$ ho$ they scurried briefly, put it

into te"t that had the heat of ovens in

it, shipped this te"t across vast oceans,

it preyed on suspicions, $as placed on

plates, no$ that I have prayed, I am 'or

may be( redeemed, but every step I take

feels like a scurry, as the fools are more

numerous than I thouht, !ust like ants.


40/70

Credits

+"eo— 547

Cri&et ;n+ine


41/70

“"uiddities

#Philosophical Poetry$”

Adam Fieled

http://www.flickr.com/photos/56740117@N04/7955605378


42/70

A.o+ogi"

9#ra *ound famously remarked that $hen poetry strays too far from music, it ceasesto be poetry. I $ould like to opine, as a tanent thouht to his, that $hen the hiher artsstray too far from philosophy, they cease to be the hiher arts. *hilosophy, no less than

literature, is a series of narratives? and that hiher-end, intellectually ambitious literatureshould t$irl and tor)ue around philosophical )uandaries and concepts is somethin that9nlish-lanuae poetry has forotten in the last half-century 'and I mean ;pure<philosophy, as differentiated from literary theory(. +he levelin process by $hich nodistinctions bet$een hih and lo$ art are made, as a precondition to post-modernity%spreponderance, has effaced interest in the ;fundamental )uestions< in favor of narro$,nihilistic ironies and corrosive but intellectually superficial cultural criti)ues. 4ut that, $ithout reprisin Romanticism, 9nlish lanuae poetry can reclaim interest in purephilosophy and the cru" )uestions of human e"istence, is the assumption these poems make. 6s such, they are anled aainst everythin in the 9nlish lanuae oeuvre after +.S. 9liot%s;3our 7uartets.


43/70

#1345

+$o hedero$s $ith a little path

bet$een— to $alk in the path like

some do, as if no other viable route

e"ists, to make ods of hedero$s

that make your life tiny, is a sin of

some sinificance in a $orld $here

hedero$s can be approached from

any side— I said this to a man $ho

bore seeds to an open space, and he

nodded to someone else and $histled

an old $alt# to himself in annoyance.


44/70

#1613

3ollo$ 6braham up the hill@to the e"tent that the hill isconstituted already by kinds

of knives, to $hat e"tent cana man o up a hill, shepherda son to be sacrificed, to be $orthy before an almihty po$er that may or may nothave had conscious intentions

$here hills, knives, sons $ereconcerned, but ho$, as I $atchthis, can I not feel that 6braham,by bravin knives, does not needthe one he holds in his rapt hands


45/70

D1617

*hilosophy says that poets $ant to lose. What are conditions of losin@ to $hom +he conditions 'to $hom they concern, to

unrepresented phantoms, mostly( are colors, $hich, to transcribe, re)uire a solid core of nebulous necromancy $hich philosophy calls

'for its o$n poetic reasons( ;loss.< I took thisfrom one strictly '$hich necessitated loosenessto$ards me( for himself, took several median

blended colors and painted a ra#or on the roof of a red buildin. +hen I fell off. 4ut I lived.


46/70

#1622

*oor Schopenhauer%s a"ioms@all in the $ill is a fiht to beatother $ills. I see him in his

meaer room, his $ill bentnot to do much, save himself the trouble of fihtin theseineluctable battles, but notable to refrain from eatin,breathin, shittin, fuckin,all those simple acts that are $ill-to-survival, but 6rthurcasts himself into a future of po$er, not kno$in $hen itarrived it $as to be a crass !oke,ended $ith face in turtle soup.


47/70

#1625

+he ;I< that $rites cannot be'he told us, perched on a hill of flo$ers $hich he crushed, but, of

course, incompletely, and not all of them at once( strictly for-itself as ithas no substance@ a student $alked

up, pricked his forearm 'the back sideof it( $ith a small ra#or, he crined butonly briefly, leanin for$ard so that aro$ of buttercups doused him yello$. +he ;I< that $rites has a relationshipthat is very much for itself, but it has

a strictly independent e"istence, so that

$hat constitutes a human ;I< has nomeanin for it. Ao$, you need to kno$ this@ I $as not the student $ith the ra#or,but I supplied the ra#or to the studentthat cut the professor%s forearm, but you

$ill never kno$ ho$ I ot it, or $hy.


48/70

#1476

ays follo$ days off cliffs— do these thins $e do haveany resonance, do they rise

into the ether, or are they tobe round do$n into pulp,briefly makin earth sodden,then dissipated dust scatteredover plains too vast, blasted $ith $inds, rains, storms, tobe counted or harvested


49/70

#1480

Ho$ horrendous, to reali#e thereare people in the $orld $ith nosoul, $alkin #eros, hollo$ spaces,

dead end interiors, permanently fro#en faculties, ho$ horrendousto $atch ho$ they borro$ $ordsof others to sound profound, buteach echo reveals there%s nothin behind it but the kind of charredsilence that comes after a corpseis burnt— ho$ horrendous, ho$ it makes some of us clin to $hat $e feel, ho$ $e feel, that $e feel,and that everythin $e feel is soprecious, specifically 'and only(

because it is felt, and stays felt.


50/70

#1281

5ou can take for rantedlots of od-a$ful arbaein places deemed important

by fools? this oes for every thin, includin poetry. Why4ecause the $orld runs 'has, $ill al$ays( on mediocrity, sosafe, so comfortin, like a mu of hot cocoa on a $inter%s niht,or a mediocre simile, people $antothers to be mediocre, to be fools,that%s !ust the $ay thins o, peopleare nothin to $rite home about, or'if you are $ritin to od( nothin to $rite about at all, the $orld is no mystery,

all the mystery is in the niht sky, lookin up.


51/70

#1241

Why does no one tell the truth4ecause the truth is 'more oftenthan not( absurd. Ao one $ants

to look absurd, so no one tellsthe truth, $hich creates evenmore absurdity? $orlds ro$ into self-parody, systems ro$ do$n into utters, $hole epochsare $asted in perfidy? Cassandrafinally opens her mouth, no onelistens, they $ant her to star ina porno, set her up $ith a stae-name, she learns not to rant, visions cloud her eyes, cunt—


52/70

#1168

+he essential philosophical )uestionis incredibly stupid—

$hy is it that thins happen 5ou can

ask a thousand times,it $on%t matter— nothin does, e"ceptthese thins that

keep happenin, ;around< philosophy.


53/70

#1067

I $ant to last— to be the lastof the last of

the last to be

taken by time,but the thin about time isthat it $ants,

$hat it $antsis us, all of us $ane )uickly for all time%s

$ays, sans ;I,< $hat I $ants—


54/70

Credits

Artreess2 — EFG

$re"t %or&s (UK) — EFJ

"&et "g"ine — E01, E1JF, E1K

* ost — EFE0

*toning the =ei+ — EEFK, EG1E

'all poems in this collection are dra$n from the 4la#evo" %E book ;6pparition *oems


55/70

“%hosts &y the 'ce

()atin* +in): The

Cheltenham Poem

(e,uence”

Adam Fieled

http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rNM8wrYOBDM/UH3WSebWvQI/AAAAAAAAC6c/yROGAqzqXhw/s1600/AbbyAlwaysLooking+Back.jpg


56/70


57/70

#414

6nd out of this ne"us, sacredscribe, came absolutely no one.I don%t kno$ $hat you e"pected

to find here. +his $arm, safe,comfortin suburb has a smotherbutton by $hich souls are unraveled. Who $ould kno$ better than you9ven if you%re only in the back ofyour mind asphy"iatin. He lookedout the $indo$— cars dashed byon 2imekiln *ike. What is it, he said,are you dead or do you think you%re Shakespeare


58/70

#421

Huddled in the back of a red :etta, I thouht $e $ere in a

Sprinsteen son. 4ut there areno backstreets in Cheltenham.It%s only the strip-mall to houseand back circuit. 6nyone could%veseen us. It $asn%t a full consummation—for $ant of a raceful phrase, $e $ere too smart to fuck. +here $asno playin hero for me. Aor did Iforce you to confess. What could you sayCheltenham $as soft, and all too infested.


59/70

#415

+here%s somethin s$eet and sickly about teenaers fuckin. 9ven laid

do$n by the !aed rocks that bordered +ookany Creek. I think of them there,and kno$ he%s ettin $asted. What%sdrainin out of him is the $ill to live.She al$ays ets him off someho$. +henthey $ould $alk over to the 2ittle 2eauefield and huddle in the duout. He didn%teven $ind up raduatin from Cheltenhamon time. I can%t et over thinkin $ho hecould%ve been. 6m I the only one


60/70

#412

9ach thinks the other a lonesome reprobate. +hat%s $hat I uess $hen I see the picture.

It%s 9lkins *ark S)uare on a cold sprin niht?they%re almost sittin on their hands. ne $ent up, as they say, one $ent do$n, butyou%ll never hear a $ord of this is Cheltenham. +hey can%t loat anymore, so they make anart of obfuscation. +hat%s $hy I seldom oback. 9lkins *ark S)uare is scary at niht. +here are hosts by the ice skatin rink.


61/70

#261

Aever one to cut corners about cuttin corners, you spun the Subaru into a rouhL-turn riht in the middle of ld 5ork Road

at midniht, scarin the shit out of this self-declared ;artist.< +he issue, as ever, $asnothin particular to celebrate. We couldonly connect nothin $ith nothin in ourprivate suburban $aste land. Here%s $herethe fun starts— I ot out, motherfucker.I made it. I say ;I,< and it $orks. 4ut ld 5ork Road at midniht is still $hat it is.I still have to live there the same $ay you do.


62/70

#418

I remember thinkin@ boy do I feel Wild at Hearttoniht. What a !oke— this horrible Cheltenham

bitch $ith a hue nose tries to enerate an ory inher basement. +he pot $as alriht, at least. 4ut9lkins *ark ave us the creeps, and $e areedafter$ards never to o back. +he fucked up thin about that niht for me in particular $as kno$in $e $ould have fun talkin about it forever. 6nd $e have, so I uess it%s not a complete dead loss. +he irl I $as $ith pretended I $as fuckin her, too.


63/70

#420

+he :unior *rom deposited me 'and fifteenothers( on the floor of her basement. I could

barely see dayliht at the time, and at three inthe mornin I bean to pro$l. I $as too scaredto turn on any lihts. She emered like a mermaidfrom sea$eed. I needed comfort, she en!oyed my need. We had one out— she $as bitter. +he $holedialoue happened in shado$s. Ao one $as hookin up in the other room, either. 5ou spiteful little princess.


64/70

#268

Satin blouses, trinkets 'some kind of!ade pendant(, & the bi trinket bet$een

her les that nobody ets to play $ith.Rare meat. She%s been babied by herparents since her birth 'Rabbit year,a !u"taposition more sad than ironic(,and suddenly I can teach her somethin 6nd I thouht of $hat she $as tellinherself in response, and the $ords cameto me, ;I%m doin this because I promised,my =om $ants me to do this, no$ I promised, I have to do this.


65/70

#413

6ll piled into the house on Woodla$n. +hey had me do all the old !okes, as thouh

I $ere a $ind-up toy. =ost of them hadnever been in the house before. It $asabout to be abandoned any$ay? but my mind still clins to it. I smoked pot therefor the first time. I ot on the road to my first hook-up at a party, & I punched aHulk Hoan%s poster%s crotch. Ao$ eventhis pile-up $as fifteen years ao. +he shedin the back $as filled $ith smoke, as $ere $e.


66/70

#260

I $as too stoned to find the bathroom. +he trees in the dude%s backyard madeit look like 6frica. 5ou $ere my hook-up

to this ne$ cro$d. +he same voice, as al$ays,cuts in to say you $ere fucked up eventhen. 5ou had a doomin edipalcomple". We $ere all $rapped tiht,even $hen $e ot hih. I $as theonly one ettin any, so you bothmistrusted me. 6frican trees & easy camaraderie. 6 primitive pact sealedbet$een $arrin factions— my spears'take this as you $ill( for your rass.


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#160

5our skin hans around you like an old lady%sloose o$n. 5ou used to live a dynamic double

life, $ith constituents comin out of your assfrom three schools. Ao one any$here kne$)uite $ho you $ere. Ao$, I hesitate to stateanythin for the record these uys are recordin. +he $hole process creeps me out. I sat in theback of the Subaru $hile they eed somebody%shouse, or he took a handful of Cs from +o$erRecords, placed them under his s$eater or into hisbo"ers. What I tell them is the truth@ there $astoo much in you that you never even kne$ about. 5ou $ere a mystery to yourself. 5ou $ere the kidat the bo$lin alley tryin to hook up $ith the t$ins,

or the obsessive devotee of another head-case.Ao$, I%m a head-case $ho kno$s the same thin is true about me, and if my skin is tautened it stins.


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#410

Ao one $ho $as there that niht, hih,hasn%t been abased. Wisdom has its

palaces that look more like park benches. 5outh%s privilee is to be in love $ithlife. I $as in love $ith life that niht, too— the crush of strane kids in an 6bintonhouse, movements to$ards more $eed. We sat on a curb and planned moremischief. +he Lniverse had some mischief planned for us, too. 3or those of us $holive on the curb and no$here else— a re)uiem.


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Credits

As?@s> 413

oog Cit!— 421, 415

ie+eds ise++"neo-s— 268

"d "tters


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canyons lined in blue waters: four collections

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