Too rowdy for the hallowed
galleries Too
taciturn
for the slaughters
Too toothsome
for daughters Too
couth to dig
what’s hip Too blissful
to moan with the crows Nose
too wide too flat
too peasant Too punch-
drunk Too much muscle
in the jaw Too pauper Too
pansy for gangsters Not gook
enough Not book-
ish enough for the bland man
standing at
the gate Check Too lummox
to scuffle Too late Too slow
for stoners Too swift
for varsity
track Too slacker Too
slant-eyed Too brave
to bounce Too wistful
Too bird-like
(Too many birds
to begin with!) Check Too
fobbish Too fleeting
First
I’m this then
suddenly I’m that Too
many windows
to see into Too many skulls
to bust Too bright
for my own good Too fugitive
Too gruesome Too green Not
enough crooning off -
key out of
time Clocked Check
the pocket Too
solemn Too here Too
there Too queer
In this era every world I enter
checks a passport And
every room is a world Every crime
a virtue Every hunger
sin Too corny Too thick-lipped
and wicked-dicked
Too horny
Too funky
in the armpits and
ass-crack Check! Too prayerful
Even kneeling
too potty-
mouthed Too much
hops for the scrubs
Not enough bunnies
for the big-boy
courts Not lion but
monkey Too dark
Too pissed
Too joyful Too
prone to exuberance
and fits of mad
dancing Too
b-boy Not Boogie-Down
enough which is
to say too Jersey Not
Philly enough which is to say
too much New York Too
Knickerbocker
Too giant Too thick
in the cock Too
rooster Too rueful Too rich
for the poor house
too poor for the White
house Too wild
Too stylin Too
much decibels
for the downstairs
neighbor Too quick
with the tongue Not enough
laughing Too fast
with the hands Not
thief enough Not genius
enough Too dim-
witted Too
wrathful Catholic
Too cautious Too taut-
o-logical Not
begotten enough Not
sorry Not on my knees
once more Too doggish
Too fishy Too much
water Not enough
meat Too tough
Too easy to ravage
Too savage Too loose
in the hips Too smooth
Too mutable Too Abel
Too Cain Too groovy
to be so goddamned
grave Too tune-less
for conservatory Too con-
servative Too
straight Too twisted
Too hammered
Too screwed
Too lifted Too bruja
Too blessed Too blasphemed
on the verge of a third millennium
where everyone I profess
to love is inclined to the same Amen
Hallelujah Yes
I find I have agreed I find it all
so agreeable
I begin to feel some kind of way
I feel a way
This is what dissent is: to feel
away from myself
to travel a distance by feeling
to make some ground by feeling And then:
whoso loves us maps us out
which is to say: Love
is a feeling away
Love is a dissent
(a vexation as in the Latin
vectus which suggests a carriage
a vehicle)
for Love is a repertoire
of migrations And whomever you love
is an argument an agony
a version of you
and I a version of my Beloved
One self multiplies and one expands
and another contracts into pity
into its exquisite miseries and shame
the self the size of a fly
or just one of its thousands of eyes Too
small Not
even molecular
and sometimes
I have migrated
far away enough from myself
I’m alone
And even loneliness hasn’t killed me
Even solitude
has kept me Even my apartness:
a gestation for a miracle by which
I must simply mean a kind of looking
Not worship Not muttering
in disbelief but this week-old sheet of ice and snow
on a bright roof beginning to melt in March
gathering into fine streams
that split and join again toward
a gutter’s ragged edge
where this first liquid bead hangs
scintillating at the brink
dilating like one utterly gleaming eye
through which you can see the vast
empty destination of a psalm
then dozens of such small glassy droplets follow
They pause at their limit
then fall
one by one in cascading angles
all these glistening
hesitations now that collect finally
in a small shallow pool
clear to last summer’s muck below my ledge Spring
is coming you
idiot You could sip
from all those eyes Too
many Too thirsty
And never too old
for damnation The cup
from which you drink
is bitter (Right
I’m talking
to myself again) Too gro-
tesque Too tramp for sweetness Too
slapstick All the boats
washed
into the streets
by tropic floods
All the ribs of every
hand-hewn hull crushed Too
frail Too beggar
for touch Today
there are only three
of me to go around Too
archipelagic atoll
Austronesian Too
coastal Too
ghastly In advance
of dying alert Too
dagger Too keen
Too slick Too
trickster
with my several
hundred ears —
Too idle Check!
Too chill Too
bovine Come
kiss me Check! Two
good hooves one
good knee Check
beneath flow
Check under-
ground This is what
water sounds like
at the end
of winter
at the edge
of a city to which
I’ve been admitted
on condition
of my loyalty
to several
hierarchies
of flags Check
Sorrow Check yourself
for sorrow No noose
today The rope’s
for climbing
Not too high
now Too brave
Too nimble Too
agile for perpetual
mourning I once
set fire
to a whole piano
in my mother’s yard
Mother dead Check
Too woeful Too manly
Too handsome for ransom
Too boastful Too dark
to spark a J or light
a candle Too devout
Too distracted
by the little spines
of a fish I’ve done
some killing
Someone has done
some killing
on my behalf
I’ve done some
living Too
much living
In this country
the dream
is the living
And for some
the living
is too much
