want. I want to want as I
once wanted. I once
wanted and it was
glamorous. I wanted
at one time
and it was divine.
It was divinity. A trinity:
three wants added up
to one half-have.
Want and want and want,
not the object
of the want:
Candy.
Money.
“Cock,” as Ginsberg
writes, “and endless
balls.” But
comes
the end
of endless
balls, and thus
the end of endlessness,
though
having
wanted, the memory
almost
does not
dissipate, leaving
again the want
to want
again, I feel it
hard here,
driving through
this
endless
monologue of fog.