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In real life you are aging at the rate of a short-lived sitcom and the only kind of loneliness worth laughing about is throwing out half a frozen meal for two because leftovers are never funnier the next day. In real life there is no such thing as a gritty reboot — it’s just fucking gritty all the time, mate, because your best-laid plans are always someone else’s chance to crash a car into the crowd at a men’s rights charity concert. In real life the nice guys pull out of the race when their tires are slashed or they turn back because they think they left the iron on and no one adheres to sports film clichés anyway — we’re all selfish and we want that trophy. In real life you’ll never make it out of your homophobic small town alive, so your left hand begs for water while your right hand swings an ax your left foot drags a church bell while your right foot taps — S.O.S., S.O.S., S.O.S.

I remember, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away! I remember, I remember, The roses, red and white, The vi'lets, and the lily-cups, Those flowers made of light! The lilacs where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburnum on his birthday,— The tree is living yet! I remember, I remember, Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then, That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow! I remember, I remember, The fir trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky: It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from heav'n Than when I was a boy.

I remember nights of playing Lotería w/Mom & Big Manny as a way to learn the Spanish they spoke to each other but not to their kids who caught on to certain words like cállate,cerveza,chicharrón; little nuggets I ate up like the pinto beans we used instead of the blue chips Mom kept in her Bingo bag she carried every Friday night when her & Tia Shirley went to the Moose Lodge, her hair & coat reeking w/the smoke of all who lost. I remember El Borracho, the man always holding a bottle & about to fall over yet never does like Big Manny stumbling home late at night after a payday, breath & belly full of beer, who one time took a piss in our bedroom. I remember La Garza, not for the heron it is but cousin Tony & his kids, nights of sleepovers & pizza, PlayStation on a 40-inch TV, the night he & Lil Jesse sneaked bumps of coke in the bathroom & I rubbed numb my teenage teeth. I remember El Musico, not the chubby man clutching his guitarra but my brother Dave loading crates of records & a dual turntable case like a coffin into the back of a van, the same set I hit my back on at ten when I fell out of the top bunk bed. But I prefer to remember La Sirena back when her breasts were free of the seashells she now holds to cover them in water so blue cold, her scales so red, her name clung to the tongue like dulce de leche.

I rose from marsh mud, algae, equisetum, willows, sweet green, noisy birds and frogs to see her wed in the rich rich silence of the church, the little white slave-girl in her diamond fronds. In aisle and arch the satin secret collects. United for life to serve silver. Possessed.

I moved my chair into sun I sat in the sun the way hunger is moved when called fasting.

I saw a chapel all of gold That none did dare to enter in And many weeping stood without Weeping mourning worshipping I saw a serpent rise between The white pillars of the door And he forcd & forcd & forcd Down the golden hinges tore And along the pavement sweet Set with pearls and rubies bright All his slimy length he drew Till upon the altar white Vomiting his poison out On the bread & on the wine So I turnd into a sty And laid me down among the swine

I saw a man pursuing the horizon; Round and round they sped. I was disturbed at this; I accosted the man. “It is futile,” I said, “You can never —” “You lie,” he cried, And ran on.

I saw a man this morning Who did not wish to die I ask, and cannot answer, If otherwise wish I. Fair broke the day this morning Against the Dardanelles; The breeze blew soft, the morn's cheeks Were cold as cold sea-shells. But other shells are waiting Across the Aegean sea, Shrapnel and high explosive, Shells and hells for me. O hell of ships and cities, Hell of men like me, Fatal second Helen, Why must I follow thee? Achilles came to Troyland And I to Chersonese: He turned from wrath to battle, And I from three days' peace. Was it so hard, Achilles, So very hard to die? Thou knewest and I know not— So much the happier I. I will go back this morning From Imbros over the sea; Stand in the trench, Achilles, Flame-capped, and shout for me.

She was a village Of lovely knowledge

I saw him walking along slowly at night holding a tray of candy and chewing-gum: a Jewish boy of fifteen or sixteen with large black eyes and a gentle face. He sidled into a saloon and must have been ordered away because he came out promptly through the swinging doors. I wondered what he was doing far from a Jewish neighborhood. (I knew the side streets and the roughs standing about on the corners and stoops.) What a prize this shambling boy with his tray! I stepped up to warn him against leaving the brightly-lit avenue. He listened, eyed me steadily, and walked on calmly. I looked at him in astonishment and thought: has nothing frightened you? Neither the capture of Jerusalem by the Babylonians, by the Romans, by the Crusaders? No pogrom in Russia; no Nazi death-camp in Germany? How can you still go about so calmly?