1.
like the Argo
you’ve lived like the Argo, always answering to the
same name
while others fell in love with arson and going back to
the drawing board, you’ve lived like the Argo, always
answering to the same name and continually replacing
the world piece by piece
"Life is difficult, as perhaps everyone knows by now,"
the gods may counsel. While others fell in love with
arson and going back to the drawing board, you’ve
lived like the Argo, always answering to the same name
and continually replacing the world piece by piece.
Now your hull scrapes the skirt of a new island, a
sound so slow to reach the young belles rehearsing a
new song in an old room.


2.
Model with Sword
He thinks this one is going to be titled Model with
Sword, but she knows it’s called Medea 1950.
Is it with a smile or a subtle frown that she sings a
song of lap dogs, black stockings and daggers? He
thinks this one is going to be titled Model with
Sword, but she knows it’s called Medea 1950, wiggling
the mask’s cheek deeper between her own.


3.
half a decade in a freezing tobacco storeroom
relishing a roomful of musical women is one way to
withstand half a decade in a freezing tobacco
storeroom. Years later you might even encounter their
fragrant scales for real.
On Santa Monica beach you’ve overheard a pair of
proto-surfers rehearsing lines for a film by Maya
Deren. How can you tell them that relishing a roomful
of musical women is one way to withstand half a decade
in a freezing tobacco storeroom. Years later you might
even encounter their fragrant scales for real. They’ll
be waiting for you to show them your favorite phallic
symbol, and the quickest route to the house of Miss
Anne Frank.


4.
an action open to misinterpretation
who wants to be the first one to make an action open
to misinterpretation? What about you, the virile
painter alone in a room with a half-naked, well-armed
woman?
Of course we’re following a score written by ancient
gods, but let’s pretend we don’t know that. Now, who
wants to be the first one to make an action open to
misinterpretation? What about you, the virile painter
alone in a room with a half-naked, well-armed woman?
What about you, the young cellist a little too early
to try out for a film by Eric Rohmer?
Of course one of us has to die tomorrow, collapsed in
a useless heap on Central Park West. Of course one of
us will not turn up on the list of survivors from the
shipwreck of modernity. Of course we’re following a
score written by ancient gods, but let’s pretend we
don’t know any of that. Now, who wants to be the first
one to make an action open to misinterpretation? What
about you, the virile painter alone in a room with a
half-naked, well-armed woman? What about you, the
young cellist a little too early to try out for a film
by Eric Rohmer? What about you, muscled lyricist, you,
relentless captain, you, grizzled king? A single
gesture will suffice and, as a matter of fact, it’s
all there’s time for. No more encores from those
clangorous hotel orchestras. Curtains, likewise, for
all archaic pipers. On this cold morning, chamber
music hushes the wars as a purple planet rises like
candy in a lavender sky.