ISSUE: Autumn 1975
ACROSS the walled continent
at the back of the rainy horn-white mountains
reading the names of the rainsmoking towns over and over
at last my name dampens and slips away
from the motionless figure on the sofa
tonnage of thumb and forefinger slanting down
each morning this body for raising bodies
thoughts of leaden coffee iron pans
how I am heavy heavy to get up
always dreaming more lonely and minimal lives
as Mercator shrinks the knownworld and the North
snows over mammoth continents
“the irrational punishments of matter” . . .
such I imagine the old age of the world
cracked walls the plumbline and its shadow
for me it’s this damned mule of a life bloodshot eye
aiming body in jerks—lift the roof of any house
and you’ll find six people brooding on the age
these names from the Gazetteer
came floating back like loose canoes
the cities closed their eyes
now each man seeks himself a hermitage
faraway deserts mountains and shores and you
you too have come to long for these things
