In first grade I was positive there were
furry creatures called tisathees.
Every morning we intoned, “My country

My internist said you are unnaturally large.
Had I caught gonorrhea from some co-ed?
(In my encyclopedia, you come right between

In first grade I was positive there were
furry creatures called tisathees.
Every morning we intoned, “My country

Not knowing the difference between Heaven
And Paradise, he called them both Heaven.
So when he shrugged at the thought of a god

I write my little song. And you call it
Guitar noodle. You write without you here.
And I call it the poem with you here in it.

The wintered trees shine white in the white sun
Daydreaming of West Indian dawn—,
Of palms that line the bright back of a beach,

When equality feels like oppression
To you, the keyboard a sword and cannon
And the comfort of being everyone

You lived here once. City—remember?—
of formerly your own, of the forever beloved,
of the dead,

“For a few years, I managed to eke out
       a meagre living as The Human Yo-Yo.”
But I tired of the unnatural activity,

Naturally, the preference is for
victory, not persistence
which, like fire if not put out,