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.
