Gregory Corso (1930-2001)

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I MET THIS GUY WHO DIED

For J.L.K.

We caroused

did the bars

became fast friends

He wanted me to tell him

what poetry was

I told him

Happy tipsy one night
I took him home to see my newborn child
A great sorrow overcame him
"O Gregory" he moaned
"you brought up something to die"

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I am in no mood this evening, with the shadow of an uncompleted demo over my head, the shock that a friend who I've listened to through ever trick and tumble of every painful relationship he's been in is utterly incapable of listening to the doubt I am having with mine, the pain of realization that I may be bored with the new toy, just as he is becoming attached.

I am in no mood tonight, almost late for a posh sushi dinner at one of the fanciest places in town, planned so many weeks ago just so I could hug a few people I haven't seen in ages.

I am in no mood tonight, with Daniel barging in every ten minutes demanding a status on my project. We locked the door, even, and now he just stands there and rattles the handle until I answer it.

I have taken to not responding to anything he says at all, right now, because I do not trust myself to use responsible words.

And I am disappointed that when I decided to teach David how to read poetry last night, before I try to continue teaching him to write it, that he did not

understand this one:

since feeling is first

since feeling is first
who pays any attention

to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a far better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
--the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for eachother: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms

for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis

-e. e. cummings

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