1966

Sometimes the urge to write
Is actually the urge to clean windows
Or flush the transmission.

Sometimes the crush of language
Toward the front of the heart's horizon
Is a miswired parcel of dance instructions.

Sometimes the words that want nothing more
Than to be skritched on the stretched screen
Are jamming frequencies, you know,

Taking the white linen in strips
For a stagename theology takes
To get the thrill days no longer provide.