'4
This poem appears in We Were Hateful People and The Love of a Good Man.
as child of tender age
Cappelbaum oft made a point
of wiping excrement upon the bathroom towel
and now he clings to sleep
like a drowning man
to wa
rather than do as told he played
extempore mad tunes on the expensive
fortepiano mother bought
he'd just soap the introitus
and dab with towel
until all sin remov'd
(all dogs are autistic
present enamoured of routine
no plans or reasons or context
then wash the ochre offering
off the towel
and ablute the hands
the tickertape of the subconscious
runs and runs eagles or hawks and
clotheslines and whatnot
we take leave of our hosts
the winds who rise and stir
this soupçon of thought
pistil sward lacustrine
plovers rock waves
worms swords sod
ever cut fingers on barbed
solder points ever pondered
de retoriek van kleur
Cappelbaum fixes the hinge so that
the front door no longer
rubs the jamb longingly
fall catches us unawares
the falls recede as the steps recede
the pigeon flees the puckered lips of god
tired then run
give them the slip
go fishing off the bridge
coven omen oven
cover even owe 'em
clover over owen
Cappelbaum is told that the
telegraphed ghost will be on in five
so he still has time he warns
let us hang on to folk securities
let us eat words
writ true for illicit
and he sleeps as outside the dogs
bellow and bay weep and wail
and howl
the lines recede into the machine
perspective changes with the lever pull'd
and gambling floors fool fill'd
when he is certain that ghost
gone Cappelbaum counts his sanity
on seven digits
when they add up
the rose may open
and the day begins