Saturday, May 9, 2015

The Price of Success

What is success? Wrinkling and buying
Reading palms and predicting ice
I have to think about emotion
As a form of dilation. I want to know more
About yearning and interpretation
Penetrating anything is sensational
And round. The insects scatter
In a saga of unfocussed rage. Hunger
Burns to inspire a pharmaceutical
That conveys vividness and intestines
On a pretty migration to Siberia
I learn by what the plywood rubs
And crawl wherever there is warmth
To be had and death sparkles
Like a chandelier in Louisiana
Baking has a sexual component
Stitched at midnight. These events
Emerge from the steam of a long
Incubation. The mountains cough
And play becomes increasingly hermetic
But if we don’t rob the bank the bank
Will rob us. We must find other means
To stimulate art. Everything, it seems,
Is a paradigm. I blame the string
For its extraordinary presence
My reactions to Renoir keep changing
Into light and dark and Bob Dylan
On a horse. The word ‘wave’ is so divine
I hesitate to use it, but there it is, wave
Feeding wave after wave in succession
Until it all flops down on the sand
Here I am in a bathing suit
Waving to you, throwing an idea at you
Of sand and sky and malleability
In the spirit of English romanticism
Reacting to a tuft of hair

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