"after reading a certain magazine"
For Irina A.S.
weep no more for people
are no more than words
and ten or twenty in a pie
make for a Wallace Steven's parody
oh "bitch" you are in a hurry
to catch up with Ezra Pound
and bury the poets in Latin or French
or build mausoleums in England
but by the red wheelbarrow
come those from Berkeley
with different optics and know,
they rewind, cut up, and play safe
still
pause
rewind
4
people
if it will
O'Hara's
way
frankness
painting and photography
rewound
dare to touch me with your
hands, to smell my body, to
caress, to make love, dare
you, and be
4
you do
anything of the like
you must go
and leave your signifier
like a scent
a fragrance of language
you
are gone now,
and only then
can we in the text
of bashfulness
dare to do anything
remotely significant.
fuck me
and the invitation
to copulate
invites the copula
the to be
a hamlet
or failing that
in a side alley of discourse
another form of intercourse
takes place
between poet
and implied reader,
"the interface"
to get laid, to be mentioned
as a footnote,
or editor, to interview
the new, to wiggle your ass,
to get published.
oh sweet vanitas
weep no more for people
but bring onto the stage
oh the varsity
of it all
the performers
ham it up
being, somewhat ontologically impaired
they leave it
laissez faire
to
computers
grovel
at the foot of mediocrity
and allow
those with intellect
to
work upon it
to inflate
to broadcast
to
weep no more for people
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