they said william blake died of a broken heart; they say a lot of things in seedy coves and bars made for pirates’ whores. they don’t even know blake, they don’t know wordsworth, they don’t know to the aching pit of a lost soul, they don’t know fucking walt whitman. this kind of thing, this - sorrow - one understands , finally , the conquistadors: but i’ve still room to wonder at durenmatt and frisch and everyone who said Zurich is a comedic prison. i have only ever been certain of greatness, while understanding is fleeting like so many swallows in the summer evening. (Ring Loudly You Bells of Felix And Regula!) (Ring until your servant is free, headed or be!) (Ring before the blood bath) (Ring proudly of your sadness) All of this I know; I know by having dragged my face across the street to know, to understand, fleeting as is - understanding - the toil that was put upon the earth a just punishment for sins unnatural. the hideous lines that cross my cheeks have known winters in new england kissing with a rapists furry behind indian casinos where i only ever lost self-respect, and the American South West desperate for consolation and forgiveness for every canyon massacre ; these lines across my forehead cut from the nets: thousands of beings - creations, creatures - [more than thousands, but we needn’t boast] died that i might understand my own might, the storms of the sea a great kiss from the gods until i needed a cigarette how i miss you, you beasts of idiocy, idleness of the saddest kind; how I miss you, you savages dying for love, dying for dreams how I miss you, golden calves, all of you! How I do so terribly miss you - with tears and a chest cinched tight against my lungs, i dream waking dreams with all of you playing staring roles! All of you! my creatures and creations, my victims, my pets; how I miss you, bus stop confessionals, how I miss you, though we never spoke the same language, i do so terribly miss you. And when I go from here; oh, you, here - you, all of you
screaming at low volumes
