Long Distance (audio only)
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Pockets
Are generally over or around Erogenous zones, they seem to dive In the direction of those Dark places, and indeed It is their nature to be dark Themselves, keeping a kind Of thieves' kitchen for the things Sequestered from the world For long or little while, The keys, the handkerchiefs, The sad and vagrant little coins That are really only passing through. For all they locate close to lust, No pocket ever sees another; There is in fact a certain sadness To pockets, going in their lonesome ways And snuffling up their sifting storms Of dust, tobacco bits and lint. A pocket with a ho
1975
Because You Asked about the Line Between Prose and Poetry
Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned to pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white, and slow.
There came a moment that you couldn’t tell.
And then they clearly flew instead of fell.
1980
A Primer of the Daily Round
A peels an apple, while B kneels to God,
C telephones to D, who has a hand
On E’s knee, F coughs, G turns up the sod
For H’s grave, I do not understand
But J is bringing one clay pigeon down
While K brings down a nightstick on L’s head,
And M takes mustard, N drives to town,
O goes to bed with P, and Q drops dead,
R lies to S, but happens to be heard
By T, who tells U not to fire V
For having to give W the word
That X is now deceiving Y with Z,
Who happens, just now to remember A
Peeling an apple somewhere far away.
1960