he sat naked and drunk in a room of summer night, running the blade of the knife under his fingernails, smiling, thinking of all the letters he had received telling him that the way he lived and wrote about that-- it had kept them going when all seemed truly hopeless.putting the blade on the table, he flicked it with a finger and it whirled in a flashing circle under the light.who the hell is going to save me? he thought.as the knife stopped spinning the answer came: you're going to have to save yourself.flick bitch
In MY DreaMS
In my dreams
I paint like Vermeer van Delft.
I speak fluent Greek
and not only with the living.
I drive a car
which obeys me.
I am talented,
I write long, great poems.
I hear voices
no less than the major saints.
You would be amazed
at my virtuosity on the piano.
I float through the air as is proper,
that is, all by myself.
Falling from the roof
I can softly land on green grass.
I don't find it hard
to breathe under water.
I can't complain:
I've succeeded in discovering Atlantis.
I'm delighted that just before dying
I always manage to wake.
Right after the outbreak of war
I turn over on my favorite side.
I am but I need not
be a child of my time.
A few years ago
I saw two suns.
And the day before yesterday a penguin,
with the utmost clarity.
