I ate some Wallace Stevens poems this morning
They tasted like pears and iodine
I could have had strawberries from Tu Fu
**
My notebook curls into itself like a small dog
In my dream last night I went about the house
And painted all the windows black
**
The old men are still knocking Sylvia Plath
**
If you dream like the blind…
You’ll see the Czar’s embroidered pillow
Gold and red by candlelight
The dreamer says: I can smother him
Just watch…and Boris Gudonov’s clock…
“C’mon,” says Carl Jung,
“You did it,”
“We gotta get back to the minotaur’s house…”
The despot growing cold, face up…
**
My country appears to be dying
And all the decent people are infantilized
We shake our rattles
**
Don’t trust grandma
She’s silent but vengeful
Held together by her cigarettes
And those little hard candies
**
Song is a cold corridor
Saying yes above the garden
Planet of the Blind 