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from Sermons and Lectures Both Blank and Relentless


Walked off a balcony     Northampton,
Mass     Two poems written on the backs
of my hands     So much good
has happened, that now I want to sing it
I’m foaming at the foaming, which to me means
the sea, but somehow I hope it’s only typing
up a letter     Friends with my friend
Mary     Or Lily     Or possibly the girl
with the crimson balloon     Perhaps now
she’ll recognize herself or think I ripped
a hole in her secret-not-saying      Red shoe laces
and stealing an apple    Brett’s in France,
nothing sinister about it     He’ll be back in April
Pouring drinks over books     I’m having a ball
I’m ill about heaven, both texture and preacher
The music so softly racing through me like a whisper,
haunting my feathers like an old elevator, crowded
with strangers, only never arriving     Or rarely
and always too late or too early     This afternoon
played hide and seek     The power went out
for no reason I can fathom, and when it came back on
I felt the surge more intensely, so went looking
for to tell you     And hit the ground running
And fell on my knees