Blue Territory (1971)

A dog lazes in gently cleaved landscapes, dollhouse rooms, hourcolors he still lives: on Lake Michigan, or the Seine, Georges du Soleil sunbathes, rests his head in the corner of the canvas. You welcomed him in Vétheuil, from the chalk white, the rust forests, the ferment beneath New York. No color death wears for the synesthete: convalescent winter, Midwest sandpaper— the land traced in the mind lies razed without, cathedral valleys to be carried.

Pentobarbital

Skyscrapers mingle in 5 o’clock light. Wednesdays spook me. How satisfying is a satisfying day at the office? I’m a speck in a sea of cloth & teeth. Memory is a beige lobby. Lately I’m just carpet. Brittney Spears says the secret to happiness is having no memory. I know lostness. I don’t know who to listen to. I don’t listen to the man on the corner preaching. I don’t preach to anyone. In kindergarten I was a serial thief. Caitlyn broke her foot & didn’t let me sign her cast. The world was an almond. Dog backwards spelled God. Teddy was my God. Scratched God’s belly he liked this. Set God’s water bowl in the middle of the living room. God was neurotic. God licked his paws till they bled. God only drank dad’s bathwater. God went to the vet & came home a collar.