Congratulating Wedge

All things belie me, I think, but I look at them though. Well boys, at least you’re not dead, right? What’s the date today? Until something. What? Of the lady of the whitening blow. I’m ashamed to keep on babbling as if I’ve always been oneself, diamond flow through. Humble flannel skeleton. Grin, laugh unbecoming Living at the bottom of the water may have been obvious all the time. But I forget. What’s my plot? Hand of a child, paw of an animal. Paint it red & make a pawprint in the psalter. Protect her & give her back her hat Entangle her dreams in demotic and Warm her feet; cheat the judge & protect the tree from which he was carved. * And now that I’ve explained the situation Jesus my frame hurts, you say. Fucking pain. Hey come & empty my ashtray once more & don’t get so excited. A gentle heart was broken. Whose? No one’s It’s a figure like a frame among medlars & briars. Hand me that piece of that, just that, yeah. I don’t mean it, I’ve never meant anything because that’s not what I do, in the mountains I call home How can I tell you of my wound? it’s round & silver & headstrong, it’s nothing more than temperament born of a custom involving a circuitous journey This is all wrong. It rains today, my son’s singing love songs of this country, already being ten. * And if to withstand this nocturnal pollution of the tiny wanton stars with bent hook clauses of misprision I’m supposed to sing the melody of an unexpecting part. . . Hey a pretty honey come a listen to me while I evening, darling, your messages, what would you think then? But I wouldn’t do that. Light surrounded oranges towels clouds. You don’t think you’re my you. Not here not you. You still think you’re he. she. Because I wouldn’t “you” you, would I? I only “you” some other he. she. I who write poems. When she writes them, it’s different. . .A world of words, right? It’s only my version of The Entertainer Nothing truly personal, I’m way above that. I’ve learned about it for a lot of days. I’ve been to see the doctor & you have to have shots for it. 17 balls of yarn & a sewing machine. * No I wouldn’t know why anyone would want to write like that. I should never have had to do it. We were used to this other thing we always know like when we’re here. And you have this clear head & you’re seeing things & there they are. You don’t notice they’re spelled. That’s how you know you’re alive. I never saw you