I speak of one whose triumph
is like his own despair
“a prison we all carry”;
his spirit eager for love
which is his only recognition.

I turn on the gas
heater to keep warm.
A long letter to Allen Midgette
who is living
in New York at the moment.
No word from Andy
or Paul. It’s Sunday
the day after the Anniversary of
the Victory of the War 1915-18.
Francesca home in bed with a head
cold. Peter is in
the bedroom asleep.

a roach that had been traveling with me since Milan
crawled up by my bed for the last time I had the arriving and
leaving jealousies

making a long painting using all sorts of painting
techniques I’m making a long painting using all sorts of painting
techniques paint staining with all kinds of plastic paint washy oil

        Thor and Formica are each in their own special way
winning the war for our boys, that crazy gang from Avondale

I enter a shop and see girls playing cards
the girls wear flaming red dresses
the kind you find in the theater

What to do
        when the days’ heavy heart
                                                             having risen, late

(2) photos of Anne
                        80 years old
                                          lovely, as always

It is a loose sleeve whose hair wraps the
Bedouin on his pony and then slings him
Into the wind, always to be a monad

Everything turns into tape. It (check one)
        puts the multiples on a loop     (1)
        reduces all numbers to one       (2)