Another Old Poem

I'm not sure why I'm suddenly obsessed with what I was doing/saying/writing/eating/sleeping with X years ago, but here's a poem I've recovered from 1999.


October 28
—Operating Instructions

The beginning is back there,
past the paper scraps, the greenish orbs
and the men moving through

a sea of yellow leaves littered with
limbs that look like longish fingerbones,
curved in invitation: Dearie, step inside.

And these are the things to fear:
white on yellow, the tattered edge, boys
too pretty to want to crawl inside,

girls without mouths, and another
night without drink. It has something to do
with necessity and the spiral: machines.

Begin: we talked over Chinese food
and coffee. The soup was merely “okay”
and the service somewhat average,

and I said and she said, and the view
was fresh from up there. I could see the bus
stop. People were going away.

And another scene: Tiffany complaining
students are all bums. And the bums, well, some
of them are rather wise. For bums.

Click. It goes on.