Lewis Warsh

The heretic’s papers were spread out on the armchair * At the window, fruit of spring, you can bite again against the weather weapons I let fall outside pharmacies, drowsy and bright * Air comes to the confused bends in the rail where in a mirror lush food puts you out for 1 night. Then it is the weather at noon that prepares to spring on you in December, a month ago blowing the lights out with a sob * On long walks a poorly tuned radio in my world     my  head with a star attached swims back * Useless—it was the wrong tree but the flag in the school breeze scans the men and women on my sleeve * A . . . turned her head towards the open window of the shop. The voice was low. It did not sound like a man’s voice. * Eighteen trees starting from the end of the block outside the pharmacy, with beards today to the subway, station, steps of a land-post “screen my heart” * Under the dog’s neck When the radio went on. Doctor He moved his face away to The pines, a deep thought. The trees, for a few seconds they were Real to him, his ears stopped The river where no life could touch him. He pressed his ear against the cold Shrill whine. Dusty legs Wondered why they had sent him To this place, they feared the cobwebs Were swaying on the unique bed. Mown grass has the peppery smell Of being crowded together on This bed, and a feeling of dark apprehension Came over him. I watch a horse Gather speed, look at a movie With you. Your words are the grime On the sidestreet, down towards the river, Yellow in the cold glare of floodlights In the yard. In the middle of the line I repeated your instructions, I puzzled with a stranger does to you In a dream. Chunks Of meat are marked Cars following me as a thought follows Us from the motel. Father Has read these latinized titles Aloud, but failed And gave place to some smooth yellowish substance, Checked by no one as he rubbed the sponge- Like doll. It had some hair But its legs did not tempt me, The sponginess gave place to the tubes themselves. Colleagues efficiently solve an aggressive Blank to be expected as we sat at the breakfast Table near the door. A tree blocked Her hair spread and fell over the wheel. But the living room shows its trimming of thick straw— The bad mechanic sets the bread on the white cloth

He changes into a bird, and that’s the only difference. Rain on the improved sidewalk seems inspired after so much heat. Look at the objects that have already wilted and died. Someone is losing hair trying to penetrate the meaning of death—rather language which postpones dying is inventing a drug to keep us alive. Being similar never made this body more true. Bills for electricity and answering service are burning inside the hearth. My dream, to have a hearth and set an example for fading youth. The conspicuous peacock neither turns nor changes, yet suddently loses its feathers, buckles in the dust and dies. The meaning is as fantastic as any truth. Language invents a painkilling drug for restoring youth—an occasion inviting feelings which jolt and never subside. I mean he is dying again, slowly, as he gains time.

Momentarily the language of description is lost what you see with your eyes is enough, for you, anyway but how to get the sense of what you saw across to another person it’s possible through the spirit in your voice when you say “it was great!” to convey what happened in that moment & it was great not only that it was terrific, & interesting too it was nice & I had a good time doing it. I had fun. You should have been there. Not only that, it was beautiful. It was inspiring.