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   i    w i l l    r e a d    a    f e w    o f    t h e s e    t o    s e e    i f    t h e y    e x i s t

--- L E O N A R D   G O N T A R E K

I am an architect in Vienna, or is that I had a heart attack in heaven.

I have these tubes hooked up to me and I am addicted to cling peaches.

What's outside is what's on television. War is dislocated voices, earth,

body parts, few gunshots, bursts of stars in murky pondwater.

I failed to draw a map and you followed it perfectly. Perfectly for you,

imperfectly for cats just stepped out of jam jars and abstract painters' studios.

I like the way you drew the products for each state and their mascots.

The revolution will be shown without sound.

The war is over so we protect the reasons for it.

Our dreams are troubled by murders from movies.

This revolution will come with more beautiful imagery.

I have answers to all your questions. Are you talking to me?

I was kicked out. It was quite a ceremony, solemn, stark:

bells, chants, roses in winter, incense, the door opening.

Creaking gate of Purgatory. The Master wiping away a small tear,

dust of centuries. My ass smarted for a week.

No I don't know the way, do I look like I'm from here?

I didn't see the film, but I believe I saw the book.

I was talking to the Baroness in the Green Room, just as the painters arrived.

Her servant giving it to her in the rear while she reviewed paint swatches.

Look, Lady, whereas it's true we have all day, we don't have all our lives.

Her handmaiden was giving it to her good with a marital aid.

She had narrowed it down to two. Her greyhound was eyeing her,

like a worm, Spring, like an Impressionist, a haystack.

I will name it anything I will name it this. No One Has The Right To Choose To Die.

No one has rights anymore. The owl in its stillness is closest to the taxidermist's heart.

No one has a thing. They left it on the platform.

No one has the right to mouth words to songs that are not theirs.

I will read a few of these to see if they exist. Kennedy's killer Kennedy's killer.

Aunt Alice's other lace glove, the black formal one. I am afraid to name it.

I am afraid it will not go away. I am afraid the rock songs are right.

I am afraid love drives us to this. I am more afraid than I have ever been.

(Italicized lines belong to Michael Palmer)

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