10. There is Nothing You Can Do

The woman slumped weeping in her wheelchair
outside of his room, weeping through the day, it seems,
unceasingly, is weeping, and the nurse
keeps asking if there is anything she can do for her.

FB: We want to be here, in these parts, where we can all talk,
you know, face en face. That’s French.
No more separating us into separate fascicles of this poem,
the FB ghetto.

I control my own timeline.


Ok, so I read in Franz Wright’s new book, F,
that the expression, “You are the love of my life,”
is long-deceased, and wonder if anyone else agrees
or if that’s just Wright being maudlin. Caroline said once
I am the love of her life and now I’m concerned
it was meaningless, the phrase being out of fashion,
the sentiment out of touch with contemporary….

FB: Oh, shut up. Let’s just ask your friends.
That’s what they’re here for.
Anyone out there ever, ever say
“You are the love of my life” to anyone, ever?
We didn’t think so.

This is the gross mind speaking, the large mind
of which you’re a pustule lacking ANY
INSIGHT. And no it’s not the same as Jung’s
puny collective unconscious. You need to dissolve
like an alka-seltzer in the scrum of things.
Plop plop fizz fizz oh what a relief it is.
The MIND also knows all the words to all the songs.

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