IX.

good thing I’m not allowed to speak at the union bargaining meetings

I’m so prepared to cave at every moment

plant me, then we’ll see who comes to visit

supposed to wait for the aftermath to write it down

arrange things for later, by this method, in the heads of friends and strangers

a shadow moves across the page in the time it takes to coax a line

Romeo and Juliet’s little pact around misunderstandings

is meant to preserve their moment, its babble

and the way a few decisive touches set a world spinning

later on you’re so helpless

and no one needed to tell them this

at the Coop a woman with a sweet smile burps the bags of pizza dough

a shopper asks for Q-tips while I’m stocking the Q-tips

I fumble the box, she says she’s sorry she disturbed my rhythm, laughs

Agamben says there comes a moment, late in life

when you at last bid farewell to your genius

that shadow or spirit whose nature is never to be fooled

and to dispense according to its inscrutable inclinations

wit, insight, the finesse of montage

it can’t stay until the end, and anyway has been responsible

for shaping its host

through whom a characteristic sound can now be summoned

by any passing gust of air

an amoral murmur, like the underworld toil

meant to make tomorrow hospitable

tomorrow, an island

bath beside which some salt-stained rags were left piled on the tiles

to be bundled away and burned