Despite the fact that there's
An even chance that you
Are alive or dead or both
Or neither my experience
Says you won't be here
Forever. Someone
Will check and, by observing,
Sort you into either
Being dead now or
Not dead yet.
I am the only permanence --
The hypothetical pet
Of a man who invented a cat
To put her in a box.
In the box with me
Is a cat. It's been years
Since I've smoked but
I accept the cigarette
He hands me. "It may not,"
He says,"be much comfort
But I'm hypothetical. Schrodinger
Didn't have cats; he
Was more a lizard person with
A distant regard for dogs."
From certain directions
There is no god at all
Only Absence, blinking in the sun
Amiably willing to discuss
The terms and conditions
Under which it might consent
To be something like God.
On Thursday I will think
"Tomorrow I will water the cactus."
On Friday I will think
"This is Friday. I must water the cactus."
On Saturday I will think
"Yesterday was Friday. Did I water the cactus?"
Wednesday is the property of Aesred
So I don't have to worry about it.
Sunday, Monday and Tuesday
Need to find reasons for existing.
I've little idea why my dreams
Sometimes include chairs and tables
And waiters who go snaking their way
Around them. Perhaps they're left behind
From whoever last rented the space.
The smaller waiters rush about
Carrying heavy trays, loaded with bowls
Of thick soup. The larger ones -- almost giants --
Carrying cups of excellent coffee.
My brother occasionally takes part
In my dreams but masked since
We're not talking to each other.
(Pretending to, we sometimes
Push words back and forth)
He doesn't do very much
To forward the action
Tipping his chair back
And ordering black coffee
From one of the surly waiters
Who I'd fire if I was a manager
With a say in the staffing of dreams.
The night is long; shadows have relieved
The men who stood around the fires
Burning on street corners. Towards dawn
Pieces of darkness will run home
Filling the sky, making dreams
Take unexpected turns or go unfinished.
When Huaynaputina exploded
It sent lava flowing to the sea
Twenty leagues away. The sky
Grew overcast. For seven weeks
There were no shadows.
Slow dawning light coaxed their return.
Some remained absent, lost or mad or
Dead of cold in far off lands.
The First God is trying to create
A place on which he can stand
Snakes appear to help him.
When they die, he mourns them.
The First God complains to Thoth
That Nut's kids are making
Too much noise. Also, he wishes
Seth would stop murdering Osiris.
A listening dead man interrupts
(He'd be eavesdropping
But Thoth hasn't invented eaves yet)
"Children make noise. They kill each other
Leaving pieces of dismembered bodies
Strewn all up and down the Nile.
Don't take them too seriously."
The First God is battling with a serpent
Who is not one of his old friends.
Despite his lack of hands, the serpent
Uses his spear skillfully. Suddenly
An armed woman with braids
Walks between them, urging them
To talk over their differences.
The Serpent says "I don't think
I created this woman; did you?"
The First God shakes his head.
I cannot remember if it was
The baby who was named
Elliot Bruce and the dog
Who was Bruce Elliot
Or the other way round but
I know my mother, then eight,
Named her dog to annoy
The baby's mother.
I see your mouth quirk and can read,
As in a comic strip, the thoughts
Italicizing over your head. He's writing
About Verlaine's miscarried brothers
Again! If I cease to employ them
They might stay forever encanted
In bottles in their mother's kitchen
While their brother luxuriates
In having been born, writing poems,
Going to prison, shooting Rimbaud.
When his sibs -- never more than
Two at a time -- try to haunt his sleep
Verlaine summons the Platonic Ideal
Of a waiter and calls for extra glasses
And curiously slotted spoons.
Only I invite them to walk at large
In a world nor green nor opalescent.
Back then I had a personality
Much too big for me. I'd look
From a window then race
To look from another pretending
I was fully staffed and garrisoned.
Years later I read Beau Geste
In which two men pretend
They are a small besieged army,
Propping up corpses on battlements
Crawling about to take shots
From here, there, some other there.
Making things worse, the two of them
Hate each other. I shook my head
Really, wouldn't a smaller fortress
Have been more practical?
