I'll read maybe two more poems from this.
I remembered my lecture earlier on
was that you don't have to read at all really.
I think I'll read a seduction poem.
About-- I have an apartment in New York City.
It's an imaginary seduction poem I have to say.
[LAUGHTER]
My sister-in-law is here.
It's called "The Roar"--
[LAUGHTER]
The poem is called "The Roar".
And there's an apartment we have in New York City, kind
of a little slum dwelling, four little rooms on Van Damme
street.
Down in, what's now called, Soho.
And in the poem I'm imagining that I'm escorting someone
up these five flights of stairs.
Outside the window, I can actually get a clear shot
because the buildings across the street
that were built by Aaron Burr, as a speculation.
Or speculations before he, you know, shot you know who.
I get-- I get a clear shot of the Empire State Building.
I mention that only because that's in the poem.
And the rest is --
I call it the red and blue beacon of empire
because it's lit up at night, enough.
"That was the last time I would walk up those five
flights with a woman in tow.
Standing in the hall patiently trying my keys.
Listening to my heart pounding from the climb.
And the last time I would sit in front of the refrigerator,
drinking white wine, and asking questions,
and lecturing like a spider.
Rubbing my hand through my hair like a priest.
Look at me touch the burning candle with my bare palm
and press a rusty knife against my left eyelid
while she undresses.
Look at me rise through the cool air shaft
and snore at the foot of the beds,
with one hand on her knee, one hand touching the white floor.
The red and blue beacon of empire,
just beyond those little houses, is familiar now
as my crippled birch.
The endless roar out there as sweet as my own roar
in my other dream on the cold and empty river.