My enemies used to annoy the hell out of me with their fake cheerfulness, their pathetic need to be liked, or their drive to dominate every conversation.
Do you know the poems of Max Jacob?Do you know Talese, Gay? Swenson, May? Do you know Goldfinger, alias Gert Fröbe?Do you know Robinson, Sugar Ray?
the wind carries its empty package through the streets
The cloud moves off the escarpment.The man is seen on the granite face,A spider, hanging for a long time
What did he say, coming out of that caveAfter a hundred forty days, and the worldStill skipping past the stars, the sun
The tall Fijian spears a giant turtleAnd hurls him down upon the foaming breakers;
We have known such joy as a child knows.My sons, in whom everything rests,know that there were those who were deeplyin love,
I’m in a phone booth in Saratoga Springs.The water tastes awful, but very helpful.You aren’t answering, whatever I’m asking.
