3

26

will

in

My yellow room surrounded by empty shoes and horrid unfiltered cig arettes that i smoke

for your sake charlie

when

you

die

sing for you requiems in our common

grave-house.

There is a thick volume of Whitman

to eat when i get hungry

and plenty of James Joyce to drink

(great blue lakes of jamesjoyce)

My trousers are brown but seem black in this light. There are terrible cobwebs

on the gold chandelier limbs

when i have time.

but i will remove them

I told jim about my mind

and he was patient as gibraltar.

Earlier tonight it was raining softly

like shy diamonds and i was moved; for the

street glistened because i love it best that way.

i looked out the window and saw the rain pieces drift within the path of the street light

and glow and turn like fluid curtains in a wind. afterwards the neighborhood was glazed

in wet silver. and the air was

so lovely, i smiled.

Yesterday me and jim climbed a hill

to a cross on its summit; then

lay before the altar on wooden benches to nap in the sun.

Jim does not approve of these poems which i have made for him but he buys me

cigarettes and feels proud of me

and laughs with me and eats with me and climbs green oak hills and

lazy

slanting trees with me and sings

with me and makes me feel strong like he is like new iron.

if he will forgive me my poetry then

i will forgive him for this.

Abel Jones