Dear So Many Things,
When I read what I wrote you, I see air rushed out. It is as if, I watched the
train and took the breeze, out of town. I get the feeling, with certainty. Soon
you won't anymore, soon you will return the envelopes and I will be left only
your hands. I have accumulated evidence for this. It amounts to, what I saw was
my owned fault. The things we've left there for a while—I don't expect them,
going on what I've seen or where I've looked. Nod twice if you agree. Here's
to hoping we find an apparent glass to raise, recursive and diligent. Here's to
next time: We will be just a little lighter, a lot softer, and one fewer.
Turning from the blaze to the counterpanel //
I saw how we are all great in our shortcomings, yea //
greater because of them. There are letters in the alphabet //
we don't know yet, but when we've remembered them //
we'll know the luster of unsupported things. //
Our negativity will have caught up with us //
and we'll be better for it. Just //
keep turning on lights, wasting electricity, //
carousing with aardvarks, smashing the stemware. //
These apartments we live in are nicer //
than where we lived before, near the beginning. //
-- John Ashbery, "When I Saw the Invidious Flare"
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