postcard

Incredible how the most of us are spent, now
(hanging out front of the steps
I shot him there, laid him out on the grass with his arms spread
making what was and forever will be the greatest thing that year put out,
in the hall she brought me fish and other sweets,
that stair, I looked up and just had to climb it

He told me to come to New York but no one ever has my back there --
L is submerged, Bee on a cliff on a camp on a trail
writes to me on the back of Désir by Munch, a lithograph, 1898,
from Maine, Headquarters Rd, Moosehorn NWR, it's called;

"Babysnake,
Camp is miserable.
Can I come home early?
At least I still love dawn in treetops.
I recently visited an old nuclear facility turned meadow.
I got some pretty wild pictures to show you.
The bunkers where the bombs were kept now look like hobbit homes."

Polis is only its people
she took much away
from that sick city
and its ephemeral beauty
leaving me that night to go for one last survey