plenty of dead ground strenuous burlesque the Japanese Consul’s car patches of white and mauve sleep in the shade a shade less repellent a dreadful smile only a toothbrush and a typewriter without leaders, without pay
Folds
About Nagasaki
only open in the autumn of 1979 no great hardship wrecked dreams about Nagasaki ‘today my wife’ before eating three survivors ‘that move us, amuse us, anger us, surprise us’ without fanfare
A leopard coughs
no one knows a young man in shorts the fashion alters once more a sense of plenty and well-being extra money to spend clutching hands soft-footed servants the leopard coughs in the darkness savagery and determination true excitement dies away a blue haze gathers folding over on itself in the shallows
Lips like living fire
the trees grew without abandonment with faded finery, with powder and paint alarming sympathy in fear of ridicule who chance threw in his path be circumscribed unwinking, straight eyes whose face was concealed a frivolous curiosity at length everything was ready more gray than black perfumes, the mirrors, the pentagrams hideous tenderness round(…)
Written in mustard
an old double bill written in mustard from one horizon to another uncarpeted wood life appeared to be going on instead of talking like a sock drawer a shadow in the background once there had been no lesbians whatever the rules the old rules fend off bearded men in hallways duties discharged somehow protected (…)
A bed for himself
he and I were friends on the road to no place wet through no rot among the potatoes gusts of rain followed the barefooted maiden savage place a bed for himself
Wrong about Mussolini
lamps on at four the peppery smell wrong about Mussolini no one could say Irena was tired, her eyesight was poor that was all anyone asked dark mirrors a short foreign door two croissants glassed-in frayed rope on his shoulders greasy and soft like brown paper parcels tied with strings victims, flotsam scented sheers, deep(…)
Salt Pacific
constant and uncertain the blue is arrogant on such a sea as this the salt Pacific a note infinitely drawn out a figure of fun the two men were not made to get on a vulgar cunning commonplace and sorted gross sensual old man a gift of repartee, coarse and obvious watch the missionaries suspiciously(…)
Winter of 1852
where leather smells where cloth is beaten, where vine leaves tremble spit and dice acid shade as only the dumb know all grades of jealousy, anger and despair fleas of Florence that single circle in regular brick bluebottles by day just as of old nothing had happened by the hour in dazzling shards an Egyptian(…)
Forbidden
inner choking nothing as precious as secret drinking in the night swimming toward him like hair in the pit of an arm it made a tinkling sound lizards ran over his shoes with half-absent eyes exercise, duties, virtues under the lime trees far more forbidden in the cool light of the moon there was time(…)
