Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Dark Valentine

This is not to say

how I expect

to see the place

when I get back

from wherever

it is I’m going

I regret my harshness

in the morning

in the face of

your neglect

the night it

rained all night

cats and dogs

refrigerators

and horses

I was just horny.

1 comment:

William Keckler said...

Brilliant. And funny. And brillinat.

You don't let yourself do schtick much in your poems.

I was thinking about how seriously I consider the comedic impulse in literature.

There are completely humorless poets I love, but I don't love them in the same way I love poets who have a visceral sense of humor.

It's the Greek Anthology thing.

Not the Rilke thing.

Jack Spicer knew all about writing poems that were pies in the face.

Even the epistolary suicide poem to Robin Blaser is that.

Although, he sort of stood there and put the pie in his face while speaking..."Go ahead...better people than us have done it."

Mom.

Is drunk.

And gnarly.

Voila! Jack Spicer!