1.

my son is reading “Howl”

with four eyes

two are tinted dark-colored

two are frozen below the shutter.

2.

people are walking

the sidewalks prepared for them.

3.

I know the stars are behind the Sun.

4.

I’m impatient.

I want the drawing to be done

before I start to mark the page.

this got me into trouble in New Bedford.

5.

New Bedford, an old salt, went down

to the sea in ships of wood.

6.

this to make oil.

to make perfumes.

to grease industry.

these things from blubber.

7.

my heart aches at the closing door.

my fear is being among the same sort of souls;

blanched grey. all of the same mind.

suffering the same way without name tags.

8.

they call this Heaven,

once the back bench-seats 

of limitless two-door sedans.

9.

my son is done with Carl Solomon

and has moved into the Footnote.

 

                   

psalms.

I'm rich, some with less might say

and to some degree, warm-hearted.

maybe. it sounds distant. I don't know.

and not to nitpick daydreams, but

from time-to-time I've been known

to lift the head of God from the table

to the level of my eyes as if God's head

had eyes to see me.

my saints are ––

the liquor salesman on the road

and the inner-hatband stitcher

and my sister and my brother

and all my lost loves and loves lost.

if I bleed beneath the barber's

errant straight razor,

some might say I had it coming.

but when I die, the undertaker

will fold my arms, hopefully,

just the way I would have.

                  Manuel Alphonso writes:

Dear William.

What ever happened to

the “Woman in the Landscape”?

Well, Manny,–– she passed away.

She entered the scene and sat on the little stool

which I’d placed for her in the landscape.

I asked her if she would like some water

or a glass of vodka and she said: “No, thank you.”

She didn’t fuss with her clothing.

She didn’t ask questions.

She instinctively knew her mission.

I took out my fine point pen and a graphite stick

and began transferring her likeness to the page.

Eventually, I wrapped things up: “Well, I guess that’s it.”

She got up from the little stool, collected her twenty bucks

and vanished into the night like the angels do from our dreams.