We played war during the war,
Margaret. Toy soldiers were in demand,

And of course, Philemon, who’s about to die
      laughing
At the sight of an ass eating figs.

Circle of suffering,
Of madness.

The name of a girl I once loved
Flew off the tip of my tongue
In the street today,

I rattled off the dates
of wars and revolutions.
I rejoiced

on the watch-chain
of our insomnia
it sits howling

Neon at sundown, early shadows
Going to meet the one and true darkness.
Avenue where I was a child in a shoe box,

Philosophers practicing their scissor-clips
In the dark,
So everything comes out

The long day has ended in which so much
And so little had happened.

time enough to feel
its just weight
to imagine its blinding clarity