Click me to see the millennia’s most compelling afraid what do you need firefox island rejoice in the pocket watch of nine hundred exhibits i deeply appreciate filling the gaps o herr doktor heinrich goetz of denton texas frank castle o’hara who wore it best you did.
— and hence approximately 13 times toward the house of painted flesh don’t care about mexico — and bound and bleached — hence applied indifference toward mexico — and they were thinking about mexico — and waiting miedo y reminiscencia y miedo to points further south he replies i really don’t care about fearful about mexico — and the consequence foreground: takes miedo y reminiscencia to points further south his applied indifference foreground: taking miedo y reminiscencia y miedo to points further security might make matters worse for mexico — and hence off the rival 18th street fences —
so lost often that park silent and then the bald one running final chamber scimitars drawn they fail they clear the man left to knot thin as a line coral council fire—fixed bald one running and done many-legged machine it must be because no time neither gasp nor scream such attention in and into the man’s mouth true being notice a country and its crop yields the man left to rot in the oil wars the police fix one lip behind a clearing calculations of the police
Traantown realizes home to’gain three watchers watch it’s luck, old luck fell on them might they see those next few days, months, years dry down harbor way.
He heard the water-thrill then, so sent above— to talk? to explore the exterior?
Terrible clarity, terrible, they weren’t like others round Traantown rigging sudden pagan kinship with patient harbor runs cross through the men of your world, one whitecap at a time.
For those of us who live at the shoreline
standing upon the constant edges of decision
crucial and alone
for those of us who cannot indulge
the passing dreams of choice
who love in doorways coming and going
in the hours between dawns
looking inward and outward
at once before and after
seeking a now that can breed
futures
like bread in our children’s mouths
so their dreams will not reflect
the death of ours;
For those of us
who were imprinted with fear
like a faint line in the center of our foreheads
learning to be afraid with our mother’s milk
for by this weapon
this illusion of some safety to be found
the heavy-footed hoped to silence us
For all of us
this instant and this triumph
We were never meant to survive.
And when the sun rises we are afraid
it might not remain
when the sun sets we are afraid
it might not rise in the morning
when our stomachs are full we are afraid
of indigestion
when our stomachs are empty we are afraid
we may never eat again
when we are loved we are afraid
love will vanish
when we are alone we are afraid
love will never return
and when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid.
So it is better to speak
remembering
we were never meant to survive.
“For either to have expressed desire, to have / reached, would have been to offer the object of desire // power. It could not be done.” Frank Bidart
let me tell you a secret:
i’ve discovered something
in the conveniences of
mass consequence to ensure
mine would continue to bear
neutral
green leather black light
pitches back
leather clutch discovers light black
leather
clutch discovers
something wild
rushing in
cow sacrifices its skin to ensure mine
the new world bears
a neutral green light black leather
rolls back
leather pitches back leatherette that
participation with the fender of
the sacrifices
of
the sun and squeezes
loud lives
conveniences of a motorcycle
what i mean to say is
the convenience of the barking
bike living alive and dies
now outside are scary things
out there children play
other bells ring out then
cease with mouths and thin skin
everything with clout is immediate and
blood waits for a bout below layers of paper
my dog watches a goldfinch
with her nose she cries
and whines complains
or does not understand the screen
a hinge creaks between
her wet nose in here and her memory
of sprinting
of the dry grass
on her brown back
of the unexpected
pizza crust she looks into me
with the excited eyes of a middle-aged
woman who in 2017 bravely enrolls
in an online poetry course
the TA refuses to insist
Frank O’Hara’s Personal Poem
has nothing to do with her
racial hangups he lost
his sobriety and everything
is unshakably out of control.