2/1/99
Dear Nada,
You are in the garden of an inn just outside Prague
& I'm there too, simply by reading
Apollinaire, thousands of miles between
us erased, imagine!
discolored by distance no more
The door is my own tongue & I
can't help it, I'm an atheist
what other pleasures can I claim from
this weary world
besides escaping the many horrible
things that can happen
& which are, anyway, too obvious
an end.
If I simply look up
the bits of brick buildings outside
that window (I'm
not looking up yet, relax) will disappear,
& you'll see what I wear
on my head. It's as unfortunate as
Picasso
standing in the mirror behind the
rather large crowd he's gathered there.
When you write to me, everyone else
sleeps, when I write to you
they open their eyes in the snow,
they're
the only reason we need to think or
talk at all, even they
know the weight of your body on mine,
its wet air
though they're not warm, like you,
nor do they smile
You make me thick, that's my song,
tho I'm dreamy-eyed when I sing it
the kiss of my hands sucked against
you
but you
want specifics. & only then, to
enjoy them? Neruda kept his heart yellow
when he wrote, as what isn't? Even
yellow rice is delicious-looking
in a blue bowl. All of this is besides
the point, I'm limp
with details, the most available ocean
(three miles to my left)
is polluted, my eyes are acid blue
at breakfast, thinking like this
makes me rash
& doesn't turn my cock female
any more than your voice is these
words I see, hell anyone
can see a petunia, even a woven petunia.
I feel like a typist. Forgive me. I
imagine things happen as I tell them
but, Nada, only to you
my committed repose. Tilt your head
& give me your lips, what would
you like me
to give you? My cigarette, to crush
out? How about some
flannel pajamas? What else stick your
bare toes through, & then
to vanish, all out, to fatten the
air
Not possible to sink down beside you.
Tomorrow
you'll be in New York, but tonight
the rivers are black, casually further
oh where oh where, my cock blown apart
like the morning paper, it was the
color of my throat
love,
Gary
7/8/99
Dear Nada,
Think each thought through to its logical conclusion?
I think about you all the time
But as I said, not through, not towards
anything at all
Like this evening, how I think not
even I so persists
As when I think of you, & then
I think
How I love your continuity, how beautiful
you are tonight
Still hungry?
Perhaps I'm agreeable merely because I'm naked
Or because I'm honest & not so
upset as to be too delicate
As though anyone can give me a solution
to all my problems
Such as myself, to whom I am speaking.
No, that's a lie.
That's just me. Like you I need to
be oiled, & kissed
It's only Thursday, I'm 36, mostly
sleepless
Except in my continual tendency not
to be. It's no fun to say
Goodnight, what if we grow older?
As I write this
You're in bed, asleep, where I can't
find you
I wish I was hung over, my wingspread
foliate, my fronds
Be small & stand in awe.
Sometimes I get depressed
Because I smile like you. When will
You be up? Don't you want
Another beer? My weak bladder, let
me, it's too hot in here
The moon on your face, it's not even
August yet
What is there ever besides various
nouns & there they are
Like the weather ruffled & filled
& raining
Don't any ordinary person, well, frankly
I am, & need
Nothing having happening.
To do, anything. & being
Alive? Me too.
Love,
Gary
7 / 1 3 / 9 9
Dear Nada,
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as the case may be.
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7/19/99
Dear Nada,
Bill Kushner is my favorite New York poet "Is this
the last kiss goodness I've got bad
gas"
his drafts in Lungfull! 7
make me wish someone'd just print
his notebooks
I guess it'll never happen
I don't understand how various choices
like looking up at laundromat TV
Saturday morning seeing long pan of
coastline ... why?
& not realizing until 1:30 a.m.
this morning jaunt to 12th Street Deli
some tabloid JOHN F. KENNEDY JR. presumed
dead crash Martha's Vineyard
Intuitively I'd suspected disaster
& see now someone totally fucked
up John-John really fucked it up
like a deathwish
"fucking everybody's standing around
& waiting to see damn what?"
They're playing that really awful Ricky Martin
on the radio again
(radio must have been more interesting in Cocteau's time
everything was more interesting in
Cocteau's time
now it's the present
where I haven't had any sleep and
both of us are at work
ho
hum
Now I'm trying to read Andrew Levy's Continuous Discontinuous
Now I've put that away and I'm looking through Lungfull! again
Now I'm thumbing through an old notebook
Now I'm looking through Levy's book again ...
I can't believe
there's nothing further to klept,
crib, vamp on, spit at
"it's over
my head"
"I don't know how to end it"
Thanks, Andy
.. neither do I!
* * *
Nada, what *about* the Kennedy fuck up?
__ "It's really none of my business"
__ "He can't afford a pilot?"
__ "A tragedy, a tragedy!"
__ Other (attach answer)
\ o / --(Hi. I work at City
\|/ Lights. You re-
| remember me, don't
| you? "Journal for
[Link to 346 photographs
the Protection of
of JFK Jr.]
All Beings"? Hey.
I watched the
[BBC broadcast
of Kennedy
Kennedy boy grow
tragedy]
up he's like the
child of an entire
[Reuters photo
of woman
generation we feel
weeping at
Kennedy apt.]
like we raised him.
You're too young
[Carolyn Bessette
Kennedy
to remember any of
admired for
style, grace]
that I guess that's
why you feel you
[Lilies mark the
spot
can be "humorous"
where hope
died]
about this truly
mournful situation.
[Yahoo! clubs:
JFK Jr.]
Human life
Is
[Map of search
area]
Sacred.)
* * *
.
Love , Gary
8/3/99
Dear Nada,
"... those who are psychically ill need but
one thing--complete and repeated genital
gratification"
--Wilhelm Reich
I guess we're
damaged I would never say oh well
um perfect
though in love I always listen to
what everyone
says our weaknesses we didn't even
go to Woodstock summer nearly over
some leaves
crisp & brown have fallen some
are yellow
while you sleep in another room that
I imagine
I'm thirsty for though the temperature
has dropped
and there's this turning of the earth
like how you turn now I can hear you
in the other room
I'm in love with all your muscles light
that polymorphously
felt good today no thought ironic
it all went well today we got away
with everything
and now you sleep I drink beer and
smoke watching other lovers
walking down to 7th Avenue then read
about coherence
worth the celebration?
There is no such thing and we thank you
Nada and I thank you, Nada
for coming.
Brenda is an ass
not burning saliva mucus flesh O kiss
me
saliva flows back into me
I'll do anything to fuck you
but if lyricism is what you want
I'll get you some
Some people just want nouns & mucus
who can't fossils small green dots
I begin to float
no not really
How much?
I'm a failure
No I'm not.
I'd better go.
Language is a real thing not imitation
and when I die
people will say I loved you.
Why are you still sleeping?
I just love you
and so
I love everything
oh! you were dreaming
it's August it wasn't snowing
I worry I've used up all the praise
& am reduced to nouns
& that they are food?
I guess I drank too much tonight
I guess I'm drunk now and that I asked
for it.
Hey
open your eyes
please open them
my legs are white and no I'm not that sorry
Love,
Gary