A Man Sits Down and Begins Talking 12

your ilk is of moonmen and cherry pies and clear glass bowls. I love you, I love you, I love you...sometimes. help is on the way, a cavalry from parts of the infantry of the footmen of soldiers who defected from an army from another military. convoluted greetings! I stand here waiting for something to change. change, I tell you, change, I speak without speaking, I scream. I grasp your hand in a final attempt at retrieving memory. good-looking corpses; they settle comfortably on the ergonomic folds of my brain. I let them. it's easier than fighting. besides, to the dead, you lose every time, there is no defeating a rememberance. heat melts the wax of my candle, I seal the letter closed with a parting sorrowful sigh, a seal of regret, a signet ring of wistful wisps of smoke, and I know they will find it in their bags in the morning, and, thinking it is theirs, hand it over grimly, proudly, only to then find themselves, inexplicably, preparing to die. There is never any reason in the things I do. I will try to explain, though... I want to live. There are other ways to achieve this goal, but murder is easiest. If only I'd have started it earlier. The murdering, I mean.

Things get so muddy in the rain, lines stretch off over hills fuzzy with earth's pubic hairs. nobody came to my funeral. I waited around to see, but no one ever showed up. I understand these things. I don't like funerals either. well wishers would only be kidding themselves. there's nothing anybody can do...now. Right now. Right Now. Grab on to this very instant that is going on, hold it still, hold it, hold, hold, hold, draw out time like a black thread, unravel the garment, fill your fists with the inner folds of things, god how I wish I could see you in the confines of this second, in the blessed serenity of a final moment, in the single purity of a drop of water grown just fat enough, so that in the following instant it will

fall

12/10/96

Jim Genzano