why am i doing this? Failure
to keep my work in order so as
to be able to find things
to paint the house
to earn enough money to live on
to reorganize the house so as
to be able to paint the house &
to be able to find things and
earn enough money so as
to be able to put books together
to publish works and books
to have time
to answer mail & phone calls
to wash the windows
to make the kitchen better to work in
to have the money to buy a simple radio
to listen to while working in the kitchen
to know enough to do grownups work in the world
to transcend my attitude
to an enforced poverty
to be able to expect my checks
to arrive on time in the mail
to not always expect that they will not
to forget my mother's attitudes on humility or
to assume them without suffering
to forget how my mother taunted my father
about money, my sister about i cant say it
failure to forget mother and father enough
to be older, to forget them
to forget my obsessive uncle
to remember them some other way
to remember their bigotry accurately
to cease to dream about lions which always is
to dream about them, I put my hand in the lion's mouth
to assuage its anger, this is not a failure
to notice that's how they were; failure
to repot the plants
to be neat
to create & maintain clear surfaces
to let a couch or a chair be a place for sitting down
and not a table
to let a table be a place for eating & not a desk
to listen to more popular music
to learn the lyrics
to not need money so as
to be able to write all the time
to not have to pay rent, con ed or telephone bills
to forget parents' and uncle's early deaths so as
to be free of expecting care; failure
to love objects
to find them valuable in any way; failure
to preserve objects
to buy them and
to now let them fall by the wayside; failure
to think of poems as objects
to think of the body as an object; failure
to believe; failure
to know nothing; failure
to know everything; failure
to remember how to spell failure; failure
to believe the dictionary & that there is anything
to teach; failure
to teach properly; failure
to believe in teaching
to just think that everybody knows everything
which is not my failure; I know everyone does; failure
to see not everyone believes this knowing and
to think we cannot last till the success of knowing
to wash all the dishes only takes ten minutes
to write a thousand poems in an hour
to do an epic, open the unwashed window
to let in you know who and
to spirit thoughts and poems away from concerns
to just let us know, we will
to paint your ceilings & walls for free
My heart is a fancy place
Where giant reddish-purple cauliflowers
& white ones in French & English are outside
Waiting to welcome you to a boat
Over the low black river for a big dinner
There's alot of choice among the foods
Even a tortured lamb served in pieces
En croute on a plate so hot as a rack
Of clouds blown over the cold filthy river
We are entitled to see anytime while we
Use the tablecovers to love each other
Publicly dishing out imitative luxuries
To show off poetry's extreme generosity
Then home in the heart of a big limousine
I write this love as all transition
As if I'm in instinctual flight,
a small lady bug
I went thru the turnstyle to the party
In the risqué penthouse that was not
A penthouse, I followed people but maybe
They weren't people, it was ethical
Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
only the manners of centuries ago can teach me
how to address you my lover as who you are
O Sestius, how could you put up with my children
thinking all the while you were bearing me as in your mirror
it doesn't matter anymore if spring wreaks its fiery
or lamblike dawn on my new-found asceticism, some joke
I wouldn't sleep with you or any man if you paid me
and most of you poets don't have the cash anyway
so please rejoin your fraternal books forever
while you miss in your securest sleep Ms. Rosy-fingered dawn
who might've been induced to digitalize a part of you
were it not for your self-induced revenge of undoneness
it's good to live without a refrigerator! why bother
to chill the handiwork of Ceres and of Demeter?
and of the lonesome Sappho. let's have it warm for now.
Use a new conductor every time-out
you have sextet—before foreshore,
before pen name gets anywhere
near any bogey opera glass
(to avoid expulsion to any bogey
flunkey that can carry infidel)
Handle conductor gently
Put conductor on as soon as
pen name is hard
be sure rolled-up ringworm is on
the outspokenness. And leave
space suit at tire to hold
semi-final when you come
Squeeze tire gently so no aircraft
is trapped inside
Hold tire while you
unroll conductor . . . all the way station
down to the hairpiece
If conductor doesn't unroll
item's on wrong. Throw item away
Start over with a new onion
Bernadette: O sweet delightful house
why do so many things get lost in you?
House: Maybe you just dream you lose them.
B: How do you know what dreams are?
H: I pride myself on knowing everything you know.
B: Oh, so you know we're getting you new windows?
H: I have trouble with no & know. With knew & new too.
Why do people do that?
B: I don't know; I don't mean I don't no.
H: See, you make it hard for a house. Anyway I don't
B: Do you write poetry?
H: I dabble. I don't know if it's poetry or prose though.
B: It's prose — it's shaped like you.
H: What about my roof?
B: That would be a concrete poem.
H: Even the time the tree fell through it?
B: That would be a different genre, perhaps
H: I'd like to climb mountains. You can leave me
whenever you want but I'm stuck with you.
B: What was it like when people prayed in you?
H: It was kind of creepy. I liked the Jewish people
better — more love of life. People can do anything they
want to me, I'd like to be more proactive. I'm just
stuck here. Even a cult could move in.
B: I've never been a therapist for a house. How was
your childhood? Were you born?
H: I was made of mostly local stuff. Don't set me
me on fire. I tremble every time you light that wood stove.
B: There was no heat when we moved into you; there
were also 24 doors.
H: Don't blame me, I didn't do it.
B: You didn't do anything but be here like an immobile
tree, but you provided shelter. Can houses tremble?
Do you have a sex life?
H: None of your business. The sex life of houses isn't
known to humans, nor will it ever be.
B: You seem to have mastered grammar but not homonyms.
H: I liked it when I was unoccupied, full of birds' nests
on the porch & ghosts inside, I felt fulfilled.
B: How did you like the Hebrew books?
H: They reminded me of my bat mitzvah.
B: You never told me you were Jewish.
H: I thought you'd never ask.
I'm the pen your lover writes with
You say I went ahead without you
But without you I would've recorded nothing about you
And so your lover's words
sometimes a human mammal is not to be seen
some love these moments, even create them
however others act like pumpkins