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#646

Premeditation(in memoriam W.C.W.) There are plumsin the fridge: tonightwill bea nightfor writingpoetry. 17 July 1989     I left school with a fair idea of what poetry was. Poetry was all about form. It...

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#647

LonelinessSolitude used to be so specialtill you came between us. I think of you when I'm with herand she knows that I do. And it's not the same any more. Nor can it ever be. 28 May 1989     My wife’s...

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#648

Facing WallsI do not like myselfvery muchI do not have the gutsthoughI cannot do itI am a weak manand noit takes no strength to say thatIt takes strength to let goand it takes time to grow strongMy...

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#649

An Empty FrameI rememberedat least I thought I didIt felt like memoryIt had that familiar painand there was a comfort in itThere have been emptinessesin the past as in the presentPerhaps I remembered...

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The Room

[T]here were just the forceps and his mother, the two primordial motifs in his life. – Andreas Maier, The Room  “Idiot” is an odd word. Unlike terms like “spastic” or “retard” it hasn’t really fallen...

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#650

Poem for a Rainy DayI dropped another pill in the bottle today –the brown one with the owl on it. All in all that's forty now(one for every day and night). I found it in a junk shopand I knew then what...

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#651

Poem to be Read in the Dark(in memoriam S.B.B.) Enough. That is how it is. Still, but for the cloudsand my breath. Waitingfor the footfalls. Waitingfor the angels of darkness. Bright at last –at the...

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#652

Sign of the TimesThey cast their shadows in bronzeat the end of their days:tall and thin like Giacometti's men.We stood erect but the sun was against us.21 July 1989        In 1961, Beckett turned to...

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#653

WreathThe flowers must have died by nowbut you have not called. I counted so slowlybut you never came. Now they will be goneand you can forget in peace. 21 July 1989     It wasn’t a wreath, it was...

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#654

Butchers(in memoriam D.T.) During the daythe town talks for itselfbut at night it needs a voiceto cut open the darknessand let the truth pour out: which is why but few are poetswhen all eat meat! 21...

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#655

JustificationI drink so muchto drown the taste of myselfand to blur my vision of you. 21 July 1989     I don’t drink. I can take a drink—I’m not a sober alcoholic or anything—but I so rarely do that...

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#656

Poem on Rice PaperShe forced my music into headphonesand gave away my comics. She dried out all my wet dreamsand "lost" my khaki t-shirt. She sucked the milk out of my coffeeand the froth from off my...

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#657

Half-LightIt was lateand I thought of meltinglying with my doubts about me. In the half-lightshe came closer andsimply peeled my fears away. 23 July 1989     I like how this one flows. It’s pleasant to...

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The Room

My friend Hubert Selby Jr., or “Cubby,” as his friends called him, used to get upset when I’d mention “hope” in talking to him. He always said that once you had a concept, you had its opposite. That...

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#658

CheatI took her virginity from herbut when she asked for it backat the end of the nightI told her it wasn't a game: games have rules like that, games have boxes and winners. “Why don't you want to play...

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#659

The Primal ScrawlMy first poem died just after birthbut its memory lives onclinging to a dangerous breast. 23 July 1989      One day I was not a poet, the next day I was. Or was I always a poet? Was...

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#660

Jean's PoemShe wore the past patchedand almost washed out, torn and frayedbut with pride –and tightlike a knotted fist! 23 July 1989      At the time I wrote this I only knew two women called Jean and...

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#661

RealityNo, it's not love. At least not what you would call love. But it feels like love. And it hurts like love. And why can't you see it? It's not invisible. It's as real as we are –maybe even more...

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#662

Symbiosis(in memoriam F.K.) We learned to live with it. For the most it stayed in its room. We heard it move from time to time(usually when we had guests). At night it would come out hungryand suck us...

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Rocks and Hills

Something different today. A couple of days ago I was rummaging around on my desktop in a folder called ‘Left’ which has nothing to do with my novel. It just happens to be on the left side of the...

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