Epitaph

I can see you clearly, so clearly.
This...you...it's all
I am having a little trouble
controlling this pencil.
It seems to want to keep going on.

Outlines seem normal, but very vivid
everything is changing color.
My hands must follow the bold sweep of the lines.
I feel as if my consciousness is situated in the part of my body that's now active --
my hand, my elbow ... my tongue.

I'm trying another drawing.
The outlines of the model are normal,
but those of my drawing are not.
The outline of my hand is going weird too.
It's not very good drawing, is it?
I give -- I'll try again...

I'll do a drawing in one flourish...
without stopping...
one line, no break!

I am... everything is.. changed.. they are calling
your face...interwoven...who is..
Thanks for the Memory

This will be the best drawing,
like the first one,
only better.
If i am not careful, I'll lose control of my movements, but i won't
because i know. I know.

I can feel your knees again
This is a pretty good drawing --
this pencil is mighty hard to hold.

Are you smoking?
I have nothing to say about this last drawing.
It is bad
uninteresting
I want to go home now...

Dead Loaf

Ah! There she goes
to buy her gold
around the turn
and back and then
again and then again
without a pause
for breath, she ran
to rising noise
its her pills and her frills
of all thoughts mistaken
mirror reflection
but her makes no wonder
cut no slack
on every tack
sped up and back
and spun four times around
the posts and down
again.
No feeling does she feel
she is running on naked heels
running on drenched concrete
with springy poise,
the men behind
like panting boys
a side stitch
like a car alarm
the ice falls out of her glass
whispering in the dead piper's ear
running to a place not so near
silent bare
ships
towers
domes
theatres
temples
and then her speaking falls
drops of life
hemmed to her skirt
all ironed and dyed
she took a turn
where blacks are beaten
smiled a smile
as shallow as time