CENTURION
It is ghastly to realize
I have forgotten you
even your
face
and that it's late in the day
before I can recall enough
to
write an ur-poem at you.
You would appreciate the irony
of an aging
man's memory
but would of course be insulted.
I turned 48 on
February 23,
you died on February 26
and I only now remembered
it.
It was 1992.
If you'd made it to March 1
you'd have been
86.
..duet for the end of time...
You went into the black hole in
Queens
where your Self had been waiting
for years, expecting you.
I
went into the black hole of Self
and it took me eight years
before I
found my way out.
I won?
You're 100 today and
the only way I can
recall
your face is through photos
that live on a website
because I
long ago lost the paper prints.
I can't take them down
because I
might forget
what you were.
If there's a crash
I might forget what
you made
not the body electric
just the body too fucking tired
to do
anything but surrender.
More than you ever did.
KTW/3-1-06
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