dear professor
Cappelbaum writes
down
if only you knew
how deeply i share
your cause
and therefore
because of it
want its end
I am naive
writes Cappelbaum
but let's not pretend
we can take back
ourselves back to
the cedar
pine and
oak
back to the dance of strokes
of leaves of grass
whose battles
do you fight
Cappelbaum writes
this morning
amongst an army of
porcelain and tile
i felt my own death
and i thought
of the leaf
imprinted in the concrete
at who hundred
granville street
and leaves drawn
in concrete on more
self-conscious
streets
and how both will
outlast my trivial
verse
and the north american
guilt and thirst for green
Cappelbaum winces
in reverse
the concrete
will disintegrate
into sand
atoms and further
into other things
that the big double you
says are equal in sand
and me
but sand does not
fear death
i am nothing to sand
Cappelbaum writes
i think therefore i
cease to be
because to think
is to be beyond
being
oh how happy
Cappelbaum's turtle is
every morning
greeting the electric light
like he greets his
migraines and melancholy
method and madness
like Cappelbaum needs
doppelgangers
to say what he means
how not being able to make one
he steals and hides
deep
Cappelbaum
on the bus home
thinks of the warm
burrow
of his bed
and of the escape of
sleep