Poems 1959-2009



    What hasn’t happened isn’t everything
    Until in middle age it starts to be.
    Night-blooming jasmine, dreams—and when they bring
    You out on stage there’s silence.
    Now I see, You tell the darkness which is watching you.
    Then instantly a hush, a cough.
    It was another darkness once you knew
    You had a blindfold on.
    You took it off,
    But this is darker—down an unlit street,
    An unmarked street, the three blocks to the shore.
    They call it Banyan Street, night air so sweet.
    Too much increasingly turns into more—
    This is the martyr’s grove on Banyan Street.
    You breathe a perfumed darkness, numberless
    The glistening as wet as meat
    Deliciousness of sinking in.
    The S
    OS of it.
    But it’s too late.
    You reach
    The can’t stop trembling yes oh yes of it—
    Already when you’re two blocks from the beach
    You start to drown.
    Love ruled your White House.
    Sit, You named your dog.
    Sit; sit,
    Sit; was love.
    Your head explodes although you hear a shot.
    Then archaeology … below above—
    Beneath amnesia, Troy.
    But you forgot.

(Location 6068)

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