Gotham Farewell

When doomsday dawned

the anxious video

informed us somnolent coffeepots

of our imminent composure

and alack

the gears, the wheels, the clocks

went to work as usual

ignoring the lampposts looting stores

while, tra la

upon the esplanade

a few unemployed trashcans

argued which would bow first

the Bridge or the Green Lady.

Jack & Jill

I

The moon will not beam without bringing a dream

Of my beautiful Jillulalee;

And the sun cannot set but with tears of regret

For my lovely Jillulalee.

For once up a mount Titanic

I roamed with my darling Jillee,

Till we came to an orbed ceramic

Me and the lovely Jillee.

That hill was somber and lonely

Haunted by ill angels only,

When in a voluminious spell,

She tumbled into the Stigantian well!

Its sad waters, sad and chilly

Used my Jillulali illy.

So the moon will not beam without bringing a dream

Of the beautiful Jillee,

Until the night-tide when I float at the side

Of my darling, my darling, my life, and my bride

In her sepulcher there on the hill,

In her tomb on the top of the hill!

II

Rub your head, dear Jack, and I will mine, 

and we will go forth,

Fetching nations and cities as we go!

Caressing men and mothers of men, not despising

redlipp’d barman, butcher, pimp, sagamore,

Up from the sudden preordain’d fall, now so

astonishing,

Though eons in the making,

Down through the valley seductively summoning,

Over the hay-fields into the sixth-month sunset

so lusciously beckoning,

We will set forth, adhesiveness thenceforth tumultuously

caroling,

Allons, Camarado, hop to it!

III

At the first twisting of the spiral

The cicada sang his dry chant.

Is there water in the clear well

Nourishing multifoliate rose?

If there had been no water there,

There had been no turning,

Nor returning turned to Fall and Flood.

Save me Lord, but not now!

Chick chick chick chack

Tereu

I Tiresias, though blind, saw it all foredoomed,

Enacted upon a broken Vesuvio,

Young Apollo’s cerebral crack,

Jill going down on her protuberant back,

Co co rico

Husband, I have immortal longings!

American Exceptionalism?

The all-too-frequently asserted insistence on American exceptionalism is questionable if it means that America is more virtuous, just, free, and open to opportunity than any other country ever has been. Such jingoism is possible only by cherry picking the past and ignoring our history of slavery, segregation, imperialistic wars, and the excesses of capitalism, which produced robber barons, a long parade of financial panics and disasters, unchecked corporate power, political corruption, and the outrages still perpetrated by Wall Street and Big Banks with impunity.. There is one aspect of America, however, that clearly deserves the highest commendation. 

The strength of American society is based not upon the competence of its wealthiest, but upon the ability and willing cooperation of its average citizens. A random selection of New Yorkers, say, including street people and the poor, could come together, elect leaders, and do what is necessary--rescue work, reconstruction, provisioning, whatever. That is the unrecognized genius of the American people. They do not need to follow the orders of an elite. Much more so than our military might or financial power or political wisdom, the practical ability of the ordinary citizen is something Americans can truly be proud of.

Mirror Man

The fellow in the mirror

seems absurdly self-conscious

spends half his time

shaving

adjusting his collar

checking the color of his teeth

He acts as if the rest of the world

has nothing to do 

but notice

his thinning hair

his second chin

the blemish on his cheek

This morning, tired, hungover

someone who’s seen better days 

he seemed particularly unhappy

and I had the feeling

that in his sullen stupid way

he was trying to tell me something.

Circle Five

Once while asleep I saw Raymond

(who sells textbooks)

in a pleasure palace

sketching

an Abyssinian maid

Round the crystal walls

were rows of astonishing paintings

(all of them signed Raymond)

When I woke to my Bay Ridge flat

and three botched canvases

I remembered nothing of the paintings

except

how much they’d made me hate Raymond!