Anselm Hollo

one leg shorter she walked into me early

the soul is not a little man operating in the heart or head all right but who is that little guy

Longing, anger, rage Feeling both desperate and boring brilliant 'sunshiney' day I don't want it

I want deranged jottings! How to stop envying the beloved the beloved's life? Flat on back, cursing the gods silly head music: big cat claws striking POW, pow, pow screech, dying mice General Misery advancing on Saigon of the Soul Yes, let's have that, too.

I bring you this head, full of breathtakingly beautiful images of yourself and put it in your lap. Now I breathe more quietly. Now you pat me. Now I sign. In a moment or two I'll get up and be a man again.

I

Being invited to the lady's large bed delighted!, and overcome by possibilities

Was not unlike stumbling through the Gobi Desert, under an orange moon

And then entering some ancient city, not understanding a word

II

Puking over her feet, I complain she's "cold". it is not an idyllic scene. I say I feel too old, to do any better, and that this is, in fact, pretty good.

III

The galaxies receding make a sound:

Patter of dog feet on sidewalk-

Wherever they're going, they're going home.

slowly the eye scans the page

the heart beats steadily

while the mind winces in in infinitesimal spasms of almost pre-natal pleasure

down in the street it is divided into three parts:

sidewalk, street proper, sidewalk, large things of equally inelastic matter on either side

these, inhabited by homegrown beings

several of whom are reading too

the karmic revelations of so many silly and loveable cells

conjoined in the bliss that feeds them, and on them, too

thus holding them

(now turn the page)