This is the word ...
This is the word of H. as transcribed this afternoonThere is peace, and there is war—the near and far colliding,the plenoma of stars and planetsopposed to our very undertakings.The sun god Huizilopochtliwhispered that to me in the blue twilight:he is sorry for the crude tears, the blankcrystals—he’ll wipe our facesif we want. There’s alwaystime on this earth, he says,in between the solid smokehe breathes. This jefe from out westthe war god, too, has told methere is no peace, there is only warand the shattered shades of lovewe live though in dreams. Lookhe says, there is the

For the Drummer o...
For the Drummer of The Jades I remember how, outsmarted you tookone last class with Master Bartlett—he toreinto your words by not talking of themat all, in class. Later, walking throughLennon Park I told you how I’d cracked opensheet after sheet, sky after sky, allwhile looking for a good poem. I’d metthree of four women and they meant nothingto me, their perfumes, the way each wore her hair.You, you were listening to the Monkees,trying to get the hometown ballad right—but nothing came out sounding like whena man’s put to heartach