They take you through my life
one poem at a time,
memory’s beast raging
through the pages

For Jews, the Cossacks are always coming.
Therefore I think the sunspot on my arm
is melanoma. Therefore I celebrate

Is there no music now
except the chime
of coins in the pocket

Though we're pages apart this time,
just being in the same issue
is like being at a party together.

Every Sunday they left a circus of dust behind them, 
as they poured out on the turnpike in stately, overcowded 
                                                                                           carriages,

Now the small buds are pronged
to the boughs like candle-butts.
Steaming April! The adolescent park 

an ear goes for an ironic walk it greets the increasing entropy denying however a lupin the cloud column is introduced the ear turns itself into a doric helix by means of a sound shift a logos reveals itself as a transvestite nevertheless the ear continues to listen a prefix is riveted to it an apophony calls generalities into question and evokes remote tenses whereupon 

oh of course I was often a second time
in rome—but at certain times I was also
actually there for the third or fifth time. when were

   Four plates of raw
iron, folded over one
   another, could not, they saw,

   An eye is opened
in a tree
by paring away the bark,