excerpt from "Shake," friend Jonathan Beckman's epic poem.
We have us here again in no good sort. The sly
and the mythic make a horrible cocktail.
The bartender hates me. She hates the dark,
the quiet, the sordid lounge. I joined
this club to learn about billiards, and that's it.
Crisscrossing the hall like a horrible bartender
looking for someone to spill a drink on.
The sly anecdote versus the mythic anecdote.
We have us here again in no good sort.
A quiet descends on the sordid lounge.
I joined this club to learn about billiards
and that's it. The cue ball, descendant of a
mythic cue ball. The eight ball, descendant of a
sly eight ball. We have us here again in no good sort.
///pagebreak///
Modest disease of the desperate Pole.
Children do not end up like her. Mothers are
to advice as blackbirds are to blackbirds.
Selfish and folded up on the corner. Selfish
and alone in the corner. It is her I want to
share this little cigarette with. My philosophy is
how horrible it is to wake up in the morning. How
horrible to find utensils covered in moonlight, to
find her curled in the corner, there in the moonlight.
To squeeze myself past the modest cabinet. Past the
dread Pole dead in the apartment. Her indulgence. Look
how mothers touch mothers and all hear out the window,
there's a dead drunk there in the apartment. Blackbirds are
blackbirds. Alone in the corner dying of moonlight.
///pagebreak///
All this horrible conquering in the name of Christianity.
I mean dating. I mean, one of us keeps going and that's not
nearly enough. All this terrible swimming. I mean sipping.
The soup in its horrible hotness. I came in here because
in here it's air-conditioned. I don't care what I eat.
All this horrible conquering in the name of nourishment.
I mean, I'm serious about politics and I'm serious about
all sorts of stuff, but I'm hot. The sun and how it keeps
horribly conquering in the name of nourishment. I mean,
I'm serious about the Christians. I mean, if I had any sense
that America believed in banjos, I'd pick somewhere else.
It's all this horrible conquering and the heat and the way
a little song plays inside you and the Christians whipping you
with their horrible heated debate. I mean politics. A dating.
///pagebreak///
A brief blaze on the pavement. A slow drunk with
a dark towel. I don't want to tell jokes, I want to
win the lottery. I subscribed to the new, not impractical
way of being, the inconspicuous, the incomplete.
A healthy stare and the skin which darkens and
the evening. A joke and you can kiss that seven hundred
dollars goodbye. I'm wrong. She's sitting downstairs.
A flower waits in the pool which is my intoxication.
A man walks into a bar. Seven hundred dollars later.
A blaze on the pavement. A darkened evening.
The skin. I'm wrong. She sits downstairs.
A healthy stare and the skin. A joke. I'm wrong.
A slow drunk. A dark towel waving in the evening.
Seven hundred dollars. A new, not impractical way of being.
///pagebreak///
Let the people die. The mysterious doctor. The blonde boy
bouncing around. Once you've broken town you're lost.
Let the people die. In the sun. Beneath the sun.
The mysterious doctor. The death of the brother.
The blonde boy. The blonde boy. And no one breaks town.
The children bouncing around. The pace of the slow sun,
the heat of the slow sun, and the weight of the slow sun.
Let the people die. The blonde boy. The mysterious doctor.
Hide. Hide and watch the blonde boy bouncing in the
mysterious sun. We're old. The sun, which travels
slowly, and the heat and the slow pace. The doctor,
the mysterious doctor. Dead in the corner. The running
around and bouncing of the blonde boy. Let them die.
The weight of the slow sun. Once you've broken town you're done.
///pagebreak///
Minute by minute we move toward the restoration.
What home. What borough have you holed up in.
Where, when it goes like this, are the gone, are
the going. Sometimes, often, you walk up to the
wall and you begin work on the wall, you're gone.
That's good. The restoration. Minute by minute.
My advice to you is this: don't listen, don't write down
what you hear, don't make a list, don't post the list.
You're gone. Minute by minute. The restoration,
covered in white, the standing wall. Staring. You
listen to something and a little bit later you walk
to the wall. In just a minute the wall is removed.
Some paint dripping and my advice to you is this:
Don't write down what you hear, don't listen.
///pagebreak///
A light puff of smoke in the warm air.
Descending and ascending. Off with the flowers
which were bought for you. The air knowing
everything. Get on your plane. My country
is big enough for me. And yours for you.
A light puff of smoke in the warm air.
Descending and ascending, no matter.
The workday for the worker, the paycheck etc.
The flowers which were bought for you.
The country. A puff of smoke. The heat,
lightening, the heat, lightening, the heat,
lightening, the heat. No matter. A puff of
smoke. A light puff of smoke in the warm
air. Nothing I'll ever say in your ear.
and the mythic make a horrible cocktail.
The bartender hates me. She hates the dark,
the quiet, the sordid lounge. I joined
this club to learn about billiards, and that's it.
Crisscrossing the hall like a horrible bartender
looking for someone to spill a drink on.
The sly anecdote versus the mythic anecdote.
We have us here again in no good sort.
A quiet descends on the sordid lounge.
I joined this club to learn about billiards
and that's it. The cue ball, descendant of a
mythic cue ball. The eight ball, descendant of a
sly eight ball. We have us here again in no good sort.
///pagebreak///
Modest disease of the desperate Pole.
Children do not end up like her. Mothers are
to advice as blackbirds are to blackbirds.
Selfish and folded up on the corner. Selfish
and alone in the corner. It is her I want to
share this little cigarette with. My philosophy is
how horrible it is to wake up in the morning. How
horrible to find utensils covered in moonlight, to
find her curled in the corner, there in the moonlight.
To squeeze myself past the modest cabinet. Past the
dread Pole dead in the apartment. Her indulgence. Look
how mothers touch mothers and all hear out the window,
there's a dead drunk there in the apartment. Blackbirds are
blackbirds. Alone in the corner dying of moonlight.
///pagebreak///
All this horrible conquering in the name of Christianity.
I mean dating. I mean, one of us keeps going and that's not
nearly enough. All this terrible swimming. I mean sipping.
The soup in its horrible hotness. I came in here because
in here it's air-conditioned. I don't care what I eat.
All this horrible conquering in the name of nourishment.
I mean, I'm serious about politics and I'm serious about
all sorts of stuff, but I'm hot. The sun and how it keeps
horribly conquering in the name of nourishment. I mean,
I'm serious about the Christians. I mean, if I had any sense
that America believed in banjos, I'd pick somewhere else.
It's all this horrible conquering and the heat and the way
a little song plays inside you and the Christians whipping you
with their horrible heated debate. I mean politics. A dating.
///pagebreak///
A brief blaze on the pavement. A slow drunk with
a dark towel. I don't want to tell jokes, I want to
win the lottery. I subscribed to the new, not impractical
way of being, the inconspicuous, the incomplete.
A healthy stare and the skin which darkens and
the evening. A joke and you can kiss that seven hundred
dollars goodbye. I'm wrong. She's sitting downstairs.
A flower waits in the pool which is my intoxication.
A man walks into a bar. Seven hundred dollars later.
A blaze on the pavement. A darkened evening.
The skin. I'm wrong. She sits downstairs.
A healthy stare and the skin. A joke. I'm wrong.
A slow drunk. A dark towel waving in the evening.
Seven hundred dollars. A new, not impractical way of being.
///pagebreak///
Let the people die. The mysterious doctor. The blonde boy
bouncing around. Once you've broken town you're lost.
Let the people die. In the sun. Beneath the sun.
The mysterious doctor. The death of the brother.
The blonde boy. The blonde boy. And no one breaks town.
The children bouncing around. The pace of the slow sun,
the heat of the slow sun, and the weight of the slow sun.
Let the people die. The blonde boy. The mysterious doctor.
Hide. Hide and watch the blonde boy bouncing in the
mysterious sun. We're old. The sun, which travels
slowly, and the heat and the slow pace. The doctor,
the mysterious doctor. Dead in the corner. The running
around and bouncing of the blonde boy. Let them die.
The weight of the slow sun. Once you've broken town you're done.
///pagebreak///
Minute by minute we move toward the restoration.
What home. What borough have you holed up in.
Where, when it goes like this, are the gone, are
the going. Sometimes, often, you walk up to the
wall and you begin work on the wall, you're gone.
That's good. The restoration. Minute by minute.
My advice to you is this: don't listen, don't write down
what you hear, don't make a list, don't post the list.
You're gone. Minute by minute. The restoration,
covered in white, the standing wall. Staring. You
listen to something and a little bit later you walk
to the wall. In just a minute the wall is removed.
Some paint dripping and my advice to you is this:
Don't write down what you hear, don't listen.
///pagebreak///
A light puff of smoke in the warm air.
Descending and ascending. Off with the flowers
which were bought for you. The air knowing
everything. Get on your plane. My country
is big enough for me. And yours for you.
A light puff of smoke in the warm air.
Descending and ascending, no matter.
The workday for the worker, the paycheck etc.
The flowers which were bought for you.
The country. A puff of smoke. The heat,
lightening, the heat, lightening, the heat,
lightening, the heat. No matter. A puff of
smoke. A light puff of smoke in the warm
air. Nothing I'll ever say in your ear.