--- R O N   S I L L I M A N

from Zyxt

	
							Tra il dire e il fare 
							c'è di mezzo il mare
							- Mario Savio

							For Lyn & Leslie



		I step into Pangaea, a dark little Cortland Street club down the block 
from Have-a-Lick's, stepping up the small bleacher seating to the upper 
rear left corner, pulling out a notebook from my black Danish book bag, 
letting the competing, compelling saxophones (Ochs, Ackley, Grundfest) 
lead the rhythm of the writing
		Infomercials in the sky
		Out-task pieces of your general outsource
		We said five, it took ten



		Lit by sun thru the gauze curtained window, steam curls up (coiling plume) 
from my mug on the counter
		Invisible just two blocks from the harbor, seagulls form a wall of white 
noise



		Connotations surrounding the name of Long Island followed comma 
immediately by Nova Scotia



		First orange streaks of day to begin my 53rd year
Sitting cross-legged atop the quilt covered bed, trying to write with this 
pocket computer as you pass the open window in bra and panties 
(downstairs, a whoop from the kids in the basement, lost on Lego Island)
		Better to centralize captive data
		The cross on that "t" looks like a nun's wimple
		A pest of poetry
		Next door, lone painter on a makeshift scaffold listens to up-tempo 
country from boom box (further, and in opposite directions, a lawn tractor 
and steady hammering) - radio hollers "Our big August meltdown, these 
prices won't last"



		The same last names, over and over, in the small cemetery
		The giant dog quite peaceful atop the blue tarp cover load in the rear of 
that pickup
		First bought, best bought (liar's remorse)



		All things being equal (the one condition that is never met)