some deaths ago
I was waiting to conclude our argument
not by defeating you
some deaths ago
I was waiting to conclude our argument
not by defeating you
but by taking your hand in mine
a simple gesture
that ensures the absence of weapons
the man who outlives his enemies
dies without anyone to understand him
after daily expecting the gestapo
or one of its descendant agencies
to boot his door down
and distinguish him with accusations
that feeling-special feeling
of having been significant in things
that keeps forgotten quarrels in the news
and spies in exile after their controls
have taken coin and run
occurs in the written arts as well
among raincoated veterans of a vanguard
who sacrificed themselves
to make contemporaneity safe for deconstruction
and how they talk talk
over bar or cafe tables
old fascists marxists mad bohemians
with nothing solid below the waist among them
gun or prick
except the bare conviction every word's
neglected holy writ
flung down and scattered into shards
before the devotees of the golden calf