Letters should he confidential but I’ve no confidences
so might as well write you a poem in the new form
only the initiate can tell from prose. Hello.
Hello Kenneth. Hello Janice. Hello Katherine. So you can scream like
power brakes. I hear from the Moustache by way of Jane. Grand.
It’s “fragrant May” (Leopardi)
(I’m typing in a pool of my own sweat)
and New York is blindingly beautiful
thanks to the aluminum people
who are not cast of Canadian metal - they have weekend
sunburns and suits bluer than heaven you can wash in the sink
yourself, even as you and I. What they got
we haven’t got is a lot of aluminum.
You run up some beams and snap
the aluminum whosies into place
and glass - sparkle! toward sundown
going east you have to walk horizontal. Except
the House of Seagram, austere and smoky
as a molten topaz. And now for personalities on parade,
while vending Picasso catalogues at MOMA
-that haven of have-not poets - I heard a guard say.