this time i'm catching the katie my own dread self --
write poems drink coffee all night
stay outta the TV room, it's a short walk to the woodshed
out under the mind's stars
3 a.m. revelations with Allen Ginsberg and Harriet,
but first i gotta
stop all this spam in my head...
I understand you less well
than I do people far less like me
They seem so sensible in their own infra-red ways
while you (on my wavelength) wobble invisibly strange
-- i imagine i do the same, to you?
but actually what I imagine is
I am an open book, a brightly lit
room with the drapes parted;
it's only everyone else who's Byzantine, inscrutable...
c'mon now admit that's only because
i'm in here with me always
but also
look how i scribble, let you all see in,
then sit miserably twiddling in the lack of feedback...
you were on my wavelength once, your
glowing lines on my screen,
but now i can only see the faint outline of you
that's still burned on my retina from
this latest flashbulb
putting your purple-dark edges in front of
everything i try to see
i gotta stop all the spam in my head,
stop these conversations with the unconvinced,
untouchable invincible;
i'm going out to catch the katie,
get down off Quixote's mule...
it's a short walk out under the mind's stars
and my train's awaitin....