After Dinner I Took a Walk
as though I've broken into myself
from an adjoining body. In this damp
playpen known as a damp playpen, people bite
towels and shout at bugs to appear
old-fashioned, like Montgomery Clift
saying something sweet and disconcerting
between puffs of a cigarette. My alacrity
is dour. The chief task of this day
is to be a receiving port for a ray
of light, so don't pull the shades,
even if the sun fades the paintings
and turns that walnut table blond.
My experience of life up to this point
is that blur between us, a hazard light
flashing on a foggy highway, but I digress.
The grapes I ate in pain will endure
in another part of my body. I'll have to
flush myself from the system, turn red,
and attend to whatever seems
sensible in the desert.