I remember staring at a painting above
My crib: two swans on green water. But, to me
Shifting forms only. It’s hard to see without words.
The less I talk to people, the less I want to.
On an all-night car trip, I’m awakened
By the smell of coffee poured from mother’s thermos
In the front seat, dark poured into dark. Later,
I burst from the theater into sun, and sneeze.
You have a rich interior life, said the famous poet,
Then asked for a cigarette. A certain string
Of words makes a clack like billiards. My trunk
Of ghosts is shaking. I need a bigger trunk.
A sigh takes in two times our usual breath.
Sigh again, sweet angel. On a pilgrimage to Innisfree
I swear I saw Yeats, standing on lake water.
I am a professor of the most useless art.
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