Sunset rolls out the red carpet
That wasn’t it
That was the song he found himself singing
The ants on the kitchen counter stampede toward ecstasy
The attitude of green to blue is love
The baby born dead
The bald still head is filled with that grayish milk—
The beauty in his arms could kill him easily
The beauty of the boy had twisted
The best way not to kill yourself
The big jet screamed and was hysterical and begged to take off
The body on the bed is made of china
The book of nothingness begins
The bowl of a silver spoon held candlelight
The child stands at the window, after his birthday party
The cord delivers electricity
The darkness coming from the mouth
The elephant’s trunk uncurling
The endangered bald eagle is soaring
The first is take the innards out when you
The golden light is white
The golden person curled up on my doormat
The gold watch that retired free will was constant dawn
The homeless are blooming like roses
The honey, the humming of a million bees
The horsefly landing fatly on the page
The images received are
The innocence of the tornado
The instrument is priceless
The intubated shall be extubated and it rains green
The irrigation system wants it to be known it irrigates
The juice glass throbs against his lips
The lagoon of the biggest atoll in the world
The leopard attacks the trainer it
The man in bed with me this morning is myself, is me
The Man of La Mamma is a tenor as brave as a lion
The Master Jeweler Joel Rosenthal, of the Bronx and Harvard
The most beautiful power in the world has buttocks
The murderer has been injecting her remorselessly
The opposite of everything
The owl you heard hooting
The perfect body of the yoga teacher
The perfect petals
The poem as a human torch. I burn. Burns out
The poet stands on blue-veined legs, waiting for his birthday to be over
The pregnant woman stares out the spaceship window at space—
The Red Guards of love rhythmically stomp their feet
There is always hope except when there isn’t—it is everywhere
There was a door because I opened it
There was a man without ability
There wasn’t anyone to thank
The smell of rain about to fall
The soft street canyon was silent. In silence the new snow
The solemn radiance
“The speed of light is not the limit. We
The stars are happy flowers in a meadow
The story goes one day
The suffering in the sunlight and the smell
The surge of energy death can’t
The takeoff of the Concorde in a cathedral
The tan table of the desert is an empty
The tennis ball is in the air to be struck. Thwock
The terrorists are out of breath with success
The tiny octopus
The trees breathe in like show dogs, stiffening
The United Nations is listening
The universe roars an expletive
The very young universe has reached
The way a child’s hands stare through glass
The way the rain won’t fall
The wind lifts off his face
The without blinds or curtains and incapable of being opened
The wobbly flesh of an oyster
The woman in love with him
The woman in the boat you shiver with
The woman is so refined
They all claim responsibility for inventing God
They can’t get close enough—there’s no such thing
They can’t get close enough—there’s no such thing
The yellow sunlight with
The young keep getting younger, but the old keep getting younger
Think of the most disgusting thing you can think of
Think of the suckers on the tentacles
Thinner than a fingerprint
This is Via Gesù
This jungle poem is going to be my last
Three hundred steps down
Three unrelated establishments named Caraceni in Milan
To return to the impossible
To start at End
Umber, somber, brick Bologna
Venus is getting
Venus wants Jesus
Waving News of the World, the other customer
We are completely
What could be more pleasant than talking about people dying
What did the vomit of a god
What hasn’t happened isn’t everything
What’s Joel
When civilization was European
Who is this face as little
Will you? Everything? Anything? Weird stuff, too?
With Jeremy Chisholm at the Lobster Inn on our way to Sagaponack
Witten is designing
Women have a playground slide
You may forget: as I crouch near
Your eyes gazed
Your face swims to my window, beautiful
Your pillow is pouring
You step into the elevator
You wait forever till you can’t wait any longer—
You want
Poems 1959-2009 Page 35