Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You’ve traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the upstairs
window. Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied
of expectation. Relax. Don’t bother remembering
any of it. Let’s stop here, under the lit sign
on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.
The one who begins this poem won’t be the same
As the one who will end it. Already
Fifteen minutes have passed since I wrote those lines.
I take my shirt off. The day is getting warm.
Yesterday I learned two words: Geheim, which is German
For secret. Temem, which is Arabic
For plenitude. In a few hours a hundred million people
Who do not speak the same language
Will gaze at the last eclipse of the millennium. Bonheur,
what a beautiful word when formed by the mouth
Of a French Buddhist. Didn’t I tell you words
Should be emptied like a vessel, didn’t I tell you I loved
Schroedinger’s cat. Kept for days in a closed box
The cat can either live or die, but until we look
It is neither dead nor alive. Next question. Ask me what light
Feels like, at the instant when it falls. The one
Who ends this poem is not the same as the one
Who will stand accused and be forced to deny it.
Can sorrow be weighed in gravitons? Is fear genetic?
Does the soul know it exists? Does it echolocate its way
In this world, looking for an exit? The inferno that we form
by being together. ’ Calvino. I use these words
To keep from looking away, ensorcelled by the radiantly
Mortal, but with zero yearning. X = wonder,
Vivid under the spell’s recurring question: Peut-on
Naitre-mourir? Lust kills joy
Instantly: half glass fully empty. Diamond cusp,
Be beautiful, brief, and blinding.
6AM, eating Eggo waffles and coloring by myself after nuit blanche explorations, crazyamazing choral music, no sleep, fantastic conversations and Dark Side of the Moon.
It’s such a motherfucking cliché, but I don’t want to grow up.