moved here for no reason. don't seem to be anywhere

That's better.

               & the only
         thing American really
worth bringing is the sense
that you must accept me, exactly.
Not as your woman.

--------------------------
 
I had left the American poetry masons in the burntdown hall

But I moved for no reason
at least now that's the case, today
Aug of late, early on the 9th ninety five.
three years later

--------------------------
 
All over the world it's been hot.

--------------------------
 
No persona my face a light oval

On wall (wall of writing, in cave, in my imagination)
"In haec tempora
you will lie"

Sinister crisis/crux--
make loss? (in times of loss I don't lie)

No, but...portend...footsteps
through door, to left
I left I left the U.S. (I created more loss)
beautiful English, the house falls.

--------------------------
 
The first sentence (of my poem) must be "I left it."

--------------------------
 
What is the second sentence

The form of the wave/weave comes to me in pictures
of stars swarming to be good
in their cage.
Man on métro speaks to himself
and so he can say anything he wants.
I wish I were him

always so constricted
by you, all you, the stars.
This page is not woven yet

but any wave of light is already woven
so as I tell you the past of the glassy future
I find I need a plot to show us truth,
the graph's coordinates quotidian life and
my life forgotten from sleep or
the unconscious which must rise up 
wounded from the escape, dripping blood.

--------------------------
 
Loves in caves are love.

--------------------------
 
It all
I mean, the universe
it had to
it is a universe of exactness.
The god we are in is exact.

There's nothing more serious or lighter than this
above rue de Messageries

Change the heroic mode.
Oh polluted lovely and the only thing American really
worth bringing to you is the sense
that you must accept me, exactly



Pub. May 1998