Musical Garden II
Can’t give you up yet gin and tonic, oh magical, magical drink & the city lights rather than the stars.
Can’t give you up, dreams of a long dead boy drifting into my body, keeping me hidden from waking, puling me down into the death insane mouth of the world
Can’t you up, Muriel, you crazy mother-us-all political poetess, purveyor of peace.
Cant’ give up Fire Island.
Can’t give you up, cheddar, Swiss, American, Gorgonzola, Limburger, Gouda, feta, goat, blue, Brie.
Can’t give you up, ideals & fantasies of vastness.
Can’t give you up, America, you motherfucking rotten boyfriend, breaking my heart over and over.
Can’t give you up New York with all your filth and rats and splendid light.
Can’t give you up beautiful small boy resting on your bed that is too large, all your day’s naughtiness floating off into the night’s air.
Can’t give up poetry – no way!
Can’t give into this sadness that flows through the body like any uncertain movement of listless stars.
Cant’ give you up Oregon mountains to stare into like a million of random trees.
Can’t stop clamoring.
Can’t give up dreams of your gentleness that may or may not exist.
in the tradition of Anne Waldman