To Psychoanalysis

Wikipedia Poem, No. 938

after Kenneth Koch

to die.

what has me—anything
you gave some fifties clothing or my
head—great
troops
to
have
you—i could play
against blackholes like picasso—i
would
play again
like some converse days
fell through
and
become?
you look the
karen horney
kind
all—other something screaming sobbing you gave me
any possibility
no one covered
epochs—
gold of my
best thing you—i would solve
a paste or my leave
hay feelings
two years at whatever wanted life—my
fantastic advancing—
i recovered with light
with
light!
comedy!
tragedy! tragedy! tragedy! tragedy!
tragedy! tragedy! tragedy!

Untitled 07182013, second draft

I don’t give a shit
About the jungle
Or your long trek
To profitable madness
As I sound out that place’s strange name
Sweating, mosquito-thick, blood green
Impossible to itch
An incantation
The machete blade
Turns to coin.

Reminding my shrink of this story
He hands over a live freshwater trout
I really can’t compete.

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