This world is the best of all possible worlds. I can feel it rising in my throat. The planet wrote. What he said across might. I am opening a window on no difference. I am saying this. This & this. Is what saved me? At several moments I thought I don’t need to be any measure of light – I can catch all I need in a hat. I can give her my fingers when I don’t. We talked by the road mark but all you ever want to do is argue. If I bequeath it. There will be no place where I am. Time was what he was writing when I wrote about the carriage it was travelling & there were 2 people etc. One of them saw something a question & asked about it. & then in the last stanza yes a question. You have to learn to make a ‘woff’ sound instead. Translation is about getting your goat. It is a very good poem he said. He smeared chocolate across the page. When there is a cross through the L. Almost Coleslaw. I said something about you are a very great man. Mr Milosz. You said this world is still the best of all possible worlds. In 1936. The powerbook is on the table. Even so.




Despair & I cut into the English cake & examined it. All
readings is the result of that Jack but he was & the table I left it in now has a new brother ear with which not to hear a list of questions for my brother about which I will write the joke won’t translate he said on this April as England is somewhat Greek together like the lovliest thing I leave is the light of the sun then the shining stars & the face of the moon & ripe cucumbers & apples & pears but not cucumbers & sayings I set out to change the language but nobody heard. I expected some things in my life, Dad, but did not expect this. A little something, perhaps, emptiness. Do not attempt this in Worcestershire.



Like Books / New York / 1998