You sit there instead thinking of the food you haven't
eaten. How rotten of you. Isn't the man in the corner also hungry and the boy
who was in the courthouse backroom waiting and you saw him sitting on a keg of
nails and his face was so full of it, the backroom smelling like cheese. He
knew hunger.
You wake up in the morning and because you are awake you
want to cry. There is nothing else really to say about it. The day is possibly
yours to describe. Going out there and saying a few words coming back home in
the night still hungry and what’s more, there's nothing more.
You knew there was a man in the room also with your wife and
you were eating the skin from his foot because he had walked far and you
admired him for coming and taking what he knew he could take, admired him for
recognizing what no one else could recognize about you--that which people never
recognize about themselves--. And you admired the way she moaned You could see
the man quite clearly and the large yellow wheel of the moon rolled across the
ceiling and she was stuffing into his mouth greedily yellow hunks of roughly
hewed moon. Je je je He jawed and whined and in intermittent bites bits tumbled
from the slack of his mouth gooey incoherently and laced amongst the curled
hairs of his despairingly large beard
What is the anxiety which grips you? Tabulate it now. At
this moment decide to write down the hurried thoughts. Your manuscript is the prescription.
Tabulate. Hurry to write down an utter deed of love. I am bored you say. But
you are an open door and on the porch a wolf is waiting and that wolf is you.
With great uneasiness, each self you confront is you
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