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by Gregory Severance

pastures tender the seared white and hard road the things


Dissecting Beckett's ~Molloy~. Pieces of it have become
scattered throughout my environment. I presented a leaf
to Doreen this morning. I inscribed a leaf to Doreen
this morning. It's okay to repeat. "Again, again,"
said Tinky Winky.


each way his on went each then words few exchanged


self these then and sea the plain the all it seen have must


Mark the song on the radio. "The Walk of Life", Dire Straits.
From all walks of life. A figure of speech. A walk of life.
My walk of life. Retrace steps. That party in Monterey
where I met Georg. Our walks of life. Insanity cruise.
Berzerkley. Trips.


something then and vigilance more is there when day


at stirring sighing and soughing faint the given night


California sea lions under the pier, otters, and fog. Here
the reflection of quivering foliage off the glass of the
display case. Behind the glass there are figures. Figurines.
Bitter taste. Pleasing muddiness.


know longer no I for matter no words mad it educed


"Driving that train, high on cocaine." Coffee spiked with
cinnamon at kinky corner. For some reason I refrained from
using the definite article. That mid-day hour with Diane
in Monterey. Tobacco smoke reefer smoke coffee and cinnamon.
Walks of life toward confinements.


these of ade the with events all at was it delusion and smoke


On other hand, confined. My body. I walked in. Would I have
been pursued? Definite articles, on other hand, get in the
way. The brig was there on Fort Ord. On other hand, Carmel
Valley marijuana.


know I all that's return must you perhaps absence too can't


now eye-ball these are turning musty
who purrs caresses his abs sense to canter


@


I am a passenger
Spiral haze stricture on anonimity
Everything will be all right tonight
They do not know what a syllable is on Lake Okeechobee
I do not know how you will translate this last sentence


I pause to report that I feel in extraordinary form
Delirium perhaps
When I'm asleep you touch my feet
under green trees of severance


Murmuring "Iggy Pop, Iggy Pop, iggy pop . . .
cocky locky, Cocky Locky, Cocky Locky . . . hushpuppies,
hushpuppies, hushpuppies . . .


It would be a life worth having, a life at last
My speech-parched voice at rest would fill with hominy
white hominy and yellow saffron
And I, Queen of the Everglades
still the teller and the told
after ten thousand words





June 6-20, 1999

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