* * * Nothing is off limits, now
everything is permitted.
The last gates have been removed.
In the east there is war
and in the west there is war.
The walls bring news of war
as they also bring
news of love:
NOTHING CHANGES, JUST REARRANGES
I DIDN'T DO IT—BUBBY DID.
LET ME OUT PLEASE.
THE ARMY IS SO LOGICAL!
UNITY + SERVICE = RECOVERY
BRIAN -n- LAURA
I LOVE YOU.
In time of war the poets turn to war,
each in his best manner. * * * I look up, as a dictionary
to the living language,
as a cur to its high table
I plead for a scrap and am offered the sea.
The hawk and the raven are my wardens,
they review every transaction.
The sun on my face is a bronze coin.
My steps make a circuit
as bread makes a circuit.
I am not afraid of the story you ask me to tell.
(In any case it is no longer my story.) * * * The lanes of the sea weave brightly
in the afternoon sun.
The buoys toll
Down by Point Reyes
lie a piece of rock, a chunk of wood
but I will not go there yet.
There remains one garment I have not worn.
There remains my brother,
whose wounds I have not tended.
There is an eagle branching like a tree
in each of my bodies.
There is a grey stone with a white band
in my left cheek.
You must fill me now with your story.
(Once, I too was a child.
—Did you not know?)