Saturday, November 6, 2010


For Gavin

You burned all your wood last night, you say.
Let’s see if I have anything you can
Haul back to Maui for those wretched nights—
When you’re hemmed in by darkness, pouring rain,
Trapped in the tropics, slapping phantoms, those
Mosquitoes sucking all your blood away.

I’ll look around New York, see what I have:
A coffee table, couch, bed, some books—
Mostly memorized. My life is yours,
If you can carry it. Chop it up. Stick
It in your hearth, or build a fire out back—
Invite the insects to enjoy the blaze.

None of my possessions make sense anymore
Except as kindling. What good are books
In bed—even yours? All I want is you.
Poems might as well be mosquitoes for all
The joy they give. Burn them. Burn everything.
Fuck everything. Let’s go somewhere else and live.

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