Geniuses throwing themselves
in front of subway cars
Montauk with its cold waves
its quiet waterfront
Your initial sense is that things here
are desperate, desperate
That people want to get away
can be read in their faces
offer her some sort of love
is what my all-too-small heart is saying
though I don't love her, offer
Diana spread like a newspaper and flew
to Coney Island and from Coney Island flew
like a newspaper away
And when she was gone
it is just as they say
she was gone
Are geniuses everywhere?
This is why I press my lips
to you because of questions
* * *
New Orleans trumpet sounds blowing out
Sarah in the swimming pool. Me in the living
room. Michael impatient with people, in Florida
I do things that make me cry all the time.
Coming back from vacation.
Remembering passion. Nodding equivalently
on the verge of something for years.
Thin body in summer, stationed, sweating,
Sarah swims from the trumpet so smooth
Days project themselves independently
Summertime, and the living is easy
The fish are jumping and the cotton is high
You are rich You are good looking
Hush little baby, don't you cry
* * *
It's cold. It's cold. Sky over Brooklyn
don't rain, I have plans for my city today.
Make important promises to me. Lasting.
For not collapse inevitable. Declarations
of foresight on me bestow with continuity
in your nature. Brooklyn sky, has anyone
told you you're all I've got and you
just well up and cry cold Brooklyn rain
over everyone. Sky above Brooklyn I want
promises. I desire promises from individuals
strained to make such promises. Brooklyn cold
my smoke-filled chest buoys up in your waters
To the extent we can fear the giant fears
coming to pass, I have feared them recently
and today's Brooklyn cold continued on
walking the streets toward the end
of the daytime, enjoying what you said
and your rare appearance departing.