Being in Rome, hired to hang around 
a dim little set, 
we film extras are out of the sewers of all creation— 

Past perfect—mode of leaving well enough alone,
                as in he had been here but left:

You, Lord, are my shepherd, imagination
figment; I seek you in patterns of Thanks-
giving tablecloths and in a bristling-

The scientists are in terror
                                           and the European mind stops
Wyndham Lewis accepted blindness

Came Neptunus
                               his mind leaping like dolfins,
These concepts the human mind has attained,

Hast thou 2 loaves of bread
Sell one + with the dole
Buy straightaway some hyacinths

play a little music on the rooftop
get a body good and wet

I was the poolboy but it was billiards
I got up on the table with a feather duster
and did a little dance like the honeybee

“It was only a pictured face,” I wanted to rant
back at Hazan’s film, “not the gift you looked for”

where all forgotten things will find their lasting
home was never lost or touched by need