WEBVTT

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OK.

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Can you all hear me?

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Even those behind me?

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Was it Wild Bill
Hickok or Buffalo

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Bill that didn't like to sit
down in the cafe with someone

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behind them.

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He always liked his
back to the wall.

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Well, that's sort
of the way I feel.

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But anyway the first poem
I'm going to read tonight

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is called "To Poetry, A Letter".

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It's certainly taken
me most of my life

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to admit how wrong
I was about you.

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When I was playing every day
close I never really saw you.

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But you didn't say a
word, you were used to it.

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Think of the time I
spent with the others

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when it was you summoning
me in their throat.

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Each small blue vein I
traced on their flesh,

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an unknown route still
warm from your heart.

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My face buried in
her hair, I would

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dream I was alone diving
through great waves.

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The whirlpools threatening with
their green voices and liquid

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syllables to drown me.

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I could see men hurling great
discuses of green water.

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The man with a dog called
Ecstasy kept beating her

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until at last I begged him
to stop and surprise myself

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in the mirror with a stick.

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Now when the rain falls and
the hail on the bruised grass

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instead of tears I celebrate
each gray afternoon

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that my window, your
wine and my glass,

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blushing like a daughter.