Poetry

They left their dog and a record playing,
the boy and girl next door. Last night

they argued to music, like they do;

I wallowed in a needle-spawned world,
addicted to dope and the crazy life,
and yet there I was—in Berkeley
for my first poetry reading.

They are not
imaginary but
accessible only
intermittently.

It’s taken everything to bring them here: 
the peaches, grapes, oysters, the goblet of 
wine, the table & cloth. 

The water level
comes up when
you throw in
stones, bricks…

Is it rude to tell men you don’t
            love them just the idea of them

The mind 
likes the squeeze 
of chutes and channels.

Things of my world, thwart, solid, chockablock,
That I was wont lightly to wield and dandle,
Now, button-bungler, fool of lid, latch, lock,