I would rather done anything than to have it happen

Empty out the mind it sticks like a sliding door

But I hardly knew where it was or anything about it

And I stood for a minute–camera-ready–absolutely miserable

This novel should be banned its lessons detached

We shook hands, she and I, and started talking

Some friendly people poked their heads from around a corner

As fast as possible, then he went back to Elizabeth

I found he was coming toward me too I ducked and the telephone rang

It was Elaine Dodge the hairdresser so I set off

And had not got three yards from the door when

The thought dawned on me that the super was not going to find

The key–only think!–and there I was!–and it began to rain

Slowly you know, as it does at this hour of morning

The drops barely making it to the ground

But I know more now than I did then

And will not be fooled into thinking any sort of nonsense

Trying to be friendly and polite but white as the gown she had on

There is no limit to my praise of her and her dancing

That we opened our house to the whole family I thought it

Would have been the death of me, the draft somewhere because

We’d used the passageway for dancing despite the fact that

In the novel the passageway is not used but the novel

Was repeated later on in real life or at the very best

Here in this time breathless couples glided

Back and forth across the passageway their cheeks flushed heels lifted

Although in the novel in fact the dance never

Took place at all but was merely discussed

The confusion comes in because of the tacit assumption that if this

Then that, if here then there, if thus then so, and so forth

And I stood there as if he did not know quite what to do next

He looked at me, I at him, across the pages of the novel

And by the time the woodpile was shrunken to a fraction of its former size

Allowing for the gap between literature and reality

Or even taking into account the gulf between reality and this

Present writing according to calculations too complex to reproduce here

He would have had to manage without the motor in the rain

And said it did not rain, and I must go

And nearly floated there in this rain

So much so that I was obliged to stop where I was and think

THE MORALIST

My problems don’t mean much

But neither is the century perfect

The lawn needs seeding and my hair

Is falling out. Another day to live

Intention’s fruit or pour

Want over more disgust so

I must mention the rigorous night?

Take pleasure in the things around us

Fight to make them last in line

I’D LIKE TO SEE IT

A compendium of words was stored here

Just underneath the chimney

I’d like to see it that way

Fortune won’t stand still for that

And pressure of the air flattens paper

I’d like to see it that way

One comes into the room groomed, a pleasure

There’s a patch of glitter in the glamor

I’d like to see it that way

Each moment opens up sudden as an umbrella

On a day storms gather like wool

A way I’d really like to see it

So you can’t assume a face again

Before the non-face puts in its appearance

Nor can you push at the door expecting satisfaction on the other side

I’d like to see it that way

Many’s the time and time for reflection

Truer than truth the subject’s interconnections

I’d like to see it that way

I was born on a day absolutely unique in world history

Birds grasp their path in air

I’d like to see it that way

It’s standard to pack half a dozen at a clip

Imagine the red thing yours alone at last

I’d like to see it that way

The image almost takes shape superimposed

As a mist on top of ordinary daily objects

I’d like to see it that way

Life goes on forever like a dusty road

Down which we peer as we drink a glass of water

I’d like to see it that way

We return again and again born into wombs

The shape of inverted ice cream cones

I’d like to see it that way

So I could relax, put on my enormous suit

And ring your doorbell holding my breath and flowers

I’d like to see it that way

In order to be able to end war but

Would war ever end or would my wanting

To end it ever end if nothing ever ended

I’d like to see it that way

Everything is standing up and falling down again

Constantly like hair in wind

I’d like to see it that way

For the good of the nation behind bars

For my own good bundled up into piles

I’d like to see it that way

I blow continuously on this thing the landscape

Crumples around me like a felt hat

I’d like to see it that way

But the problem is I put out my hand

And only clutch air wanting to understand

I’d like to see it some way

Any way so long as I could know it was there

And could pull back the covers at will

To reveal my heart’s desire and measure it

I’d like to see it that way

A PAPER TREE

The interior burns a part of the funnel away. The tree gives off a shape and cool. Hinges rusty so door opens slow. Lock has no key, have to call locksmith. He pops it out with long cylinder-shaped gizmo. In now, deep breath. She says to pay the 90 cents later. The sense of a very large shape, well ordered. This is just what you already said. Reaches for more writing, elsewhere. So it makes its own criterion, it zips up. Noticing a gob of that, a job like that. Smacks of a taste of that. That is why it is what it is. Therefore or thus begins each sentence. Sensate or insensate: the waves come up. A car is running, waiting for you. Like eating, these words.

You could begin again, you could begin again. Gull dips into drink, then howls, no, squawks. Sparkles, speckles, dots on the water, points of light. The burden of that is your attention. Unifying force, not just bits and pieces like digital watches where each minute is isolate, not part of an hour or a day. Split second, split atom, split level, as a ranch, half a floor, like a sunken tub. Pen has a bump on it. That would unify it, that the syntax had a grammar we all agreed on, it made sense we could count on, one, two, three. Wind ruffles water more, still more, then more. Clouds cover sun air gets grey. Submarine periscope pops up. If someone is watching it all begins to add up. It all begins to make perfect sense. It all fits together. It all adds up. It is finally clear. It dawns on us.

But we don’t know, can’t tell. So the message gets re-coded. End of the pier goes nowhere. White foam at the bow pushing out ahead. No shore visible. New shirt or dirigible. Rhyme time not surefire or alarmed. No fine surface paddled into the funnel. Seconds, minutes, hours tick by. This is no goddamned game! The trumpet notes trail off like the airplane flyway. Tree persists standing on its ear. Cleverly avoid a character that way. My story, your story, just there. Log jam in the air, traffic jam in here. She keeps coming back to that. She knows she knows, but she just sidles into it. She keeps coming back to that. Picked up a bit later on and put down, she’s put down. She keeps coming back to that. Ceiling paint goes on easily. Tug’s comfy. Refrigerator comes next. She keeps coming back to that. We think equally.

Sky’s chock full of cloud. Clouds slowly stately menacing. Water’s choppy, winds blow. Moment by moment it is of immense interest. Digestion riddles the baby. It’ also cold in here. Allays your fear, she gets up, opens a beer. Piercing birdsong, trills, open notes, notes held, elongated, shaped, swallowed, pushed. Speedboat zips by. Gulls hover, slowly flapping wings. She is wearing a green shirt but it’s not that simple. Like a wave breaks over then whacks the pier. More ground than you could ever hope to walk on. This kind of sentence is eaten in a certain frame of mind. The shapes it makes as the connections that hold it together. She experiences it as if it were all on paper. When she talks that way. But does she do any different. Does she see another way now.

The baby’s eyes misfocus. Rather than seeing. The person she sees a splotch as a patch. It’s just a response to that. Wind makes noise slapping obstacles. Ears are one. Two gulls cross each other but miss just above the water. Moment by moment all of them can’t be just right. What sentence is supposed to follow. As if dictated. The system set up so there isn’t a question of choice. Rotting piers, green and rust colored. Clouds low and blue underneath. That is the hanging man. He is scrambled among the stones. A block of time is removed, not seconds passing by. A present that connects to a past and skips all the intervening minutes. Jack has George’s dream. She was picking tomatoes and speaking Spanish. Wind was pouring down. Little black tips of waves.

More noise from the wind. Right through the spaces between the buttons on the shirt. Trees swish. Birds don’t want to fly. Why is not an element of time. Time matters, is matter. Is organized like a lark, on a lark. You pray and pay. All the water jams closer together. Furious pulse. This is just this, not this. This this this. And so forth, and back. Flips through subject matter index. He came in and said, "Nothing." The wind blew it all clean and cool. She put down her bag and begged. You and I don’t know but we are in it. Frost on top of snow. Light added to light. Deep green trees in background, foreground. We remember how the water is green straight down. I couldn’t forget how what I was doing was a step removed. The sun shone delightfully as I walked. Wind steps up pace, knocks over pliant weed stalks. Pages blow. Body chills.

A THOUSAND PEAKS COVERED WITH SNOW

This hour of night arrives

I telephoned much later

It appeared as if the street were wet

But there was no sandwich

Her hat was outrageous

The man tasted the bechamel sauce

Why is the umbrella hung that way

Hurtling toward a conclusion

A bruised tomato

We insisted on being right

Now and then I chop down a tree

Hit him on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper

Whatever it was it was caused by something

Actuality causes this

Tap three times with your cane

A simple neat repair job

If this were literature you would be a professor

Something about a revolver

A painted shape on the wall

I know the rules very well

Sit down to write and can’t think of anything

That was past, this is now

Our new table is far away

Install a faucet

There’s a chance to make real money

Time is the limit always

More cars are wedge shaped

Prematurely grey

Look into your heart for the answer

Find something new for your cold

Worked him over but good

There’s a hell of a spin to it

The lovers were discreet

Shit, an old word

Copy your original

This goddamn thing always splits

Someone ripped out the last page

I had a red truck when I was a kid

There’s mass appeal in this

It’s been foggy constantly

A squirrel was barking at us

She went the other way

It must have been the meat