Of Light, this much is known: she is welcome. Of else? Best left unsaid. That Dino lived ungainly, of inferior repose? This much to most folks boringly was known, chiefly Dino, who blinded of mere moonlight, even all there mutually imbibed, belt misfastened, flung about, heartstrong Dino did so ride into flurries of am, tho nothing stuck. But that’s for others to decide, he wrung & reasoned. I’m just this if, not am, he’d prat as if accused. I’m more the stars & swimmingly, delicious lie of all what’s hovering between, you see? then, tiredly, to no one: You can leave. My party’s just begun. The one I lie & dream myself some hero beyond afterthought, unlonesome, fair determined, well-received. Estímable, unflappable, unblanky’d, well-believed. Admissible, formidable, belovedly relieved. But that’s about as far as I can see. Coax not could I it all into assembly * Dino Spumoni was hard smart, harumphing arcana at parties or worse, the sad little lectures that built himself all up in private (at his lowest, the doodling…) Dino, sharp critic of the Times, nonetheless kept shut up about it, leaned content on the Special he could do if ever enough he may care. Away he so went, man cast from arena in self-exile, curmudgeon secure in an untapped infinite and skipping the grit did there regretfully fantasize & glorify… He was lost in the realms of Could, where nary Big 🅱️enis nor tiny african god be made ever available and’d anyhow be shunned. There’s little whistlers in his coffee this morn’. He stares respectfully away into the sky0 for all in him that can be erased. * Dino’s mother had not bargained for the opera that became his life. She crept to stand at ear beyond the door in witness to the strangenesses he kept made manifest, then worry away in his carry-on, only later on in light lovingly reason ‘gainst his raving, while in private panic. Soft mothers have but few options when sacked with a Dino— pray & worry, draw them blind when the Times condemn him & his crimes & the sosuch we now know as inevitable… Forgive them, Evelyn, they know not what they’ve brought upon us... We are just as much generations down this procession of eyes… in holy gloaming sunflower your held son, a light your hands imbibe like roots & lift O Dino let then droop in sudden disgrace… If only he reasoned erased o heart his heart as much as only as in mother’s eyes & is no more. Thereunder he fell victim to a sureness he would claim but never name. * Of those who’d like to see him dead, I’d say they don’t know he sat happy once, and still the blackbirds burrowed, chitling little hours unheavenly away into the soup of every coming fugue. A lie, therefore and fully so there’s nothing left to say but this: Dino dies. It never could be just one thing, Dino scoffed frankly so away, Away the word, as always into disorder another. Never of grace into bright fields where cats blinked. There was a time once, I will say, and, too, a wonder, even when blind dirigibles sunk unnamed away in song unfortunate Lo’, there is this his Inheritance, a general resurrection of hot air, thought put away & now oft’ forced to consider. Nothing here, however. squiggly line * My Gift Goodbye, all. I’m taking my little monster away from it all now, down & away, huddled off where least fuss may be mustered. Yes, it’s true. My enemies were right. Too true… I belong at Wal-Mart, in the frigid air, wrapped around a floodlight’s concrete base like some weird ghost, my love to find me there. I beg you, take a bigger man, comedian to spin it all as silly, not this deadly serious affair— melodramatic, drawn-out finish to a wompy as-if life. This man ought to be practical. This visit, your insistence, my bitterness, resistance to your pleading as I freeze, should shake him down forever, listen me: Place him will he a cowboy hat o’er heart at my bye-bye, and you should look away when things get quiet later on, over fields deep with snow out some window with such a longing that he shall never dare ask. This is my gift to you. This is my gift to you. My gift.
i found it sweet