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--- 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)

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