WEBVTT

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This next poem is a prose poem.

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I've written a couple but
generally, they're not too hot.

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It's called "The Sweet."

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Can you all hear me?

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[INAUDIBLE VOICES FROM AUDIENCE]

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Really?

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OK.

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I'll lean closer.

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Am I reading too fast?

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[INAUDIBLE VOICES FROM AUDIENCE]

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OK.

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The man steps in out of the
blizzard with his klootch,

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his Eskimo prostitute.

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And the room heats up
as I cross the floor.

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I know he is dying.

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And I spin a half dollar
around in the bar then

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slide my eyes over the woman.

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She has a seal's body.

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Her face is a violet in
the center of the moon.

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The half dollar falls over.

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I remind myself that
to love a klootch

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is always to be
filled with emptiness.

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Turn and lift my glass.

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I shake my head.

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Drink.

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When I hear retreating
footsteps, I turn.

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The man stands at
the door facing me,

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his hand gropes out
as a woman backs off.

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And I see the northern
lights flare up in his eyes

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before he stumbles and falls.

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The woman leans back
against the wall.

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I pick up the half dollar,
spin it around again,

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and go over to her.

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We walk out into the
darkness and I am

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cold as I squeeze her buttocks.

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Her blue dwarf stars.

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It's sort of all right if you
didn't hear the other poems.

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And they get better toward
the back anyway, I think.