It’s hard to say that to you,
To anybody,
But I do.
Often I have sprawled under the table
Ordering messages among the crumbs
And been satisfied
While you, and you, and anybody
Laughed as you latched a door
Behind you in the distance.
Sometimes I have had
A whole house to myself. In those cities
No ceilings were too high
No risk too clean, no work
Too difficult. Then I could say
Anything, and did. Doors kept
Locking and unlocking to the echoes
I hardly heard, blessing
My ears and hallways, each fresh sound
Hanging around its mute catastrophe.
It was as if the mail would never come,
I’d never have to watch a telegram
Grate under the door
Reminding me of secrets and sealed things,
Who owned this house
And who was here, and wasn’t.
When I began
To go outdoors again I tried on stars
In lieu of you-know-what. I was
No slim effete, knew right away
Just how that getup fit. Old baggy pants.
So where was I to go? Back to my crumbs,
The trite hosannas on my bathroom walls,
The private kitchen of my peas and cues?
I did, and what a hash I’d made
Of that. So “To the roof” I cried
Like Caesar, mad for war, and hoped for birds
Like Francis, strictly. I had the crust.
On top at last, I looked both up and down,
The world, or something similar, to execute.
The clouds shaped up. I was Polonius:
Oh very like. A whale, leviathan,
Cast off from sea to sea.
“I’m sick of this,”
I thought. “I’ve been around.” And two things
Happened.
This bird, or very like a bird, hooked
Talons to my hands. I grounded him,
Hung on. And in the park
I bought balloons, hung on to them.
You find me like this, minion, an octopus
Hanging on, up to no good, needing
You. Don’t cut the strings. I swear
There’s weight enough for two. Please help
Me navigate this foolish ground.
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