RARELY MENTIONS BEAUTY

WHAT SAY THE AUGURERS? THEY COULD NOT FIND THE HEART WITHIN THE BEAST.

I know where I will wear this dagger then; Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius

17

Wo, in welchen immer selig bewässerten Gärten, an welchen
Bäumen, aus welchen zärtlich entblätterten Blüten-Kelchen
reifen die fremdartigen Früchte der Tröstung? Diese
köstlichen, deren du eine vielleicht in der zertretenen Wiese

deiner Armut findest. Von einem zum anderen Male
wunderst du dich über die Größe der Frucht,
über ihr Heilsein, über die Sanftheit der Schale,
und daß sie der Leichtsinn des Vogels dir nicht vorwegnahm und nicht die Eifersucht

unten des Wurms. Giebt es denn Bäume, von Engeln beflogen,
und von verborgenen langsamen Gärtnern so seltsam gezogen,
daß sie uns tragen, ohne uns zu gehören?

Haben wir niemals vermocht, wir Schatten und Schemen,
durch unser voreilig reifes und wieder welkes Benehmen
jener gelassenen Sommer Gleichmut zu stören?

THE TRAMPLED MEADOW OF YOUR LOSS

Reliable Rick and Moped Jeff had a baby and it grew to be about 37 and sold me a Stray Cats record.

Dan and Debbie drove me across the bay to Niles, which Dan thought was called Niland like that submagic shitspace at the rump of the Salton Sea. We have both been there. But Niles is called Niles. It has an avenue of antiques and oh isn't that just adorable and a train. We parked and went into a record store, which Dan and Debbie exited after Dan found the toilet. I stayed and bought seven records and got one for free. The free one was Elvis' I Got Luck. When I found Dan and Debbie on the sidewalk, it started to rain. A middle-aged woman with black spiked hair walked by with a box of pizza. Debbie made a comment about the good smell of the pizza, and Dan suggested that we drive by the train again on our way to Mike Street's Christmas Party where there was food and champagne. We went there. It was still raining when Alice, the girlfriend of Mike Street, answered the door. She was drunk. So was Mike Street. Alice made some jokes about giving me Martinelli's instead of champagne and ran into the kitchen counter. Mike Street poured me a glass of champagne. He scolded me for eating the Ruffles and onion dip instead of the pile of clementines he had set on a plate in front of me. When I ate a grape he patted my head and said "good girl." Alice poured me another glass of champagne. Alice told me and Debbie how she met Mike Street at a bar and how she met Jen from Oakland at a weekend retreat near some hot springs where they talk about relationships and sex and clothing is optional. Jen listened soberly and looked like she would have not volunteered this information if it had been up to her. It got quiet, so I said, "Wow, I've never heard of a retreat like that. That's really cool." Then Mike Street put on an 'independent' 'mock-umentary' about 'multi-level marketing' that his daughter Eileen is doing the marketing for. When he turned the volume louder than the other guests who were in the kitchen, they all left. Dan, Debbie, Jen from Oakland, Alice, Mike Street and I watched the ninety minute movie. It was mediocre.

Her only relief was in the companionship of animals. On the Nile she had found two chameleons which slept on her bed. She had been sorry to part with them, "they were such company." She was traveling now with two tortoises, called Mr. and Mrs. Hill, a cicada named Plato, and a baby owl, Athena, which she had rescued from some boys at the Parthenon. Athena became devoted to her and traveled everywhere in her pocket. At Prague, Athena ate Plato.

Couiquier, Ri-c-aur-doh

THE ANGUISH OVER WHAT CAN HAPPEN IF WE START LOOKING AT EACH OTHER STRAIGHT IN THE EYE

NO ONE MAY EVER HAVE THE SAME KNOWLEDGE AGAIN

But in any case, he had not traveled, and it was like a black stone in his soul.

THAT OLD SADNESS SATISFIED WITH GOING BACK TO BEING THE SAME AS ALWAYS, WITH CONTINUING, KEEPING AFLOAT AGAINST WIND AND TIDE, AGAINST CALL AND FALL

A HOLE WHERE TIME WAS BLOWING

They'll stick you with a blossom horse if you don't watch out.

The first prick of forgetfulness in the memory

NOTHING WAS IN PLACE BUT AT THE SAME TIME - TO BE SURE, MARVELOUSLY SURE - ON THE FLOOR OR ON THE CEILING, UNDER THE BED OR FLOATING IN A WASHBASIN, THERE WERE STARS AND CHUNKS OF ETERNITY, POEMS LIKE SUNS

They can go soak their heads.

There is something called time, Rocamadour, it's like a bug that just keeps on walking.