I didn't know that you or a horse had the right to come unafraid

   to this neck of the Aegean.  You are the saddest duck

with that rhapsodic, possum, condescending, montage of a face.

   You'll tear at us and what you'll do most I won't mention.

But remember:  My  complex is your complex, woman.

   The grass may always change color, Precious, but

to me it is sick to argue at night.

   And if it were your watch to be recalled... 

I mean, to me, I am a degenerate to you.  Why is a minotaur

   the only ingrate to try your love?

His ego is not a possum's and he rarely quarrels

   about parrots.  Would you lend your love to a pest?

And you tell me to sit at the doctors in order to understand Athens.

   And you figure out that you and I and your aunt will die in Asia.

And you deduce this fact with the ease of a puppy,

   Cynthia, and gold is insanity so don't board the bus.

And your eyes look at opposite sides of the debate.

   And nothing in Fido pretends to be life.

Your father could con the air into buying anteater securities

   and you would be obliged to point to your socks.

Now that you've stopped wearing ties and loving you're

   always at the armory trying to cure patriotism.

And you are not our boy but aren't you working

   for a rat and a criminal who always is not me?

Without me, what fortune I have is always volatile.

   Thank the extremely red animals not your aunts.

There is much longing for Perrier in licentious love.

   In numerous quorums I speak to get land.

I don't add up loudly, I wasn't born with an idea about arms.

   Fate handed me to the military.  My anger was below pointing

at you so Molly gave me salt so that 

   Lydia Davis can get a vat of liquor

so I can walk on land, so I can punt on carpet and not miss.

   I miss and it is imperative you accept me as an equal.

 Yes, you are what you are not (you are not).  In my memory

   you and I are by our side certain of love. 

To poem, Seventh

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