License

None of it’s there that you cared for, so familiar furniture and paintings. The medals aren’t there either I’m still there but it isn’t; I’m here; sword, I have sword — imagine — and disguising protect- ive the ancient helmet. Her head was cut off nonetheless. The man brought the head along to the doctor: the head said to. Shouldn’t we bring the body I asked in case he wants to re- attach them Oh, the head hadn’t thought of that. What do you have instead of a body, there? We have a wholeness of perception what we are asking you to do for us, write down our poems creates a body. Otherwise our body ... isn’t that we aren’t sensuous ... but we decohere, you must understand that the universe is always developing or changing its face — body — whatever; we have always been it but it’s never quite right ... pilot’s license; my pilot’s license is a fossil, you said. We need yours. We need your license. When Momma first, the very first hallucination that the decompression tube in her stomach was black ... It isn’t black I said over the phone well I thought it was she said, not being fanciful, and I was in a motel in Colorado at the time. Whose head was it really I repeat. For we never leave here and nothing fossilizes but stonelike mossy patterns might be made, colors transformed walk to the hospital, everyone’s mad at me, who cares? It was my whole soul transported and all its certainties that I existed, beneath all the legends, otherwise as joy.