This Machine Kills Fascists
Also having sent
my body out on the minted water—
mind strident, mind green—like a canoe gaining drift
mind strident, mind green—like a canoe gaining drift
toward the shoelace factory, I loved a woman.
Summer we made a joke of our bodies as we loved
each other. We chased afternoon and caught
sometimes a cool in the shade of it, and away.
The animals slept and we baked rhubarb
in the heat, made up our minds
about all the things. We even dared political. Kiss more than money
away. Do you know how many centuries I loved a woman
whose name, though I do not remember, I waft in vain?
A secret lets her name vanish. I deny everything and nothing
vanishes. I spend nothing. It is hazy and I have nothing
I’m willing to spend. I am full of prose. I have that to chip. I guess I could
get rid of my books. I have no proof they exist.
Only a few lines of verse I am soon going to túrn on.
I have just authored another century
of Perseus, crickets and emptiness, the center of any old lake.