If I address myself to the vulgar side of the audience,
it's out of decency.
I read yesterday in Phoenix, so that's sort of nice
because it gives me a chance to read some poems I don't usually
read.
So I'll start out with some older
poems, a couple of very short love poems,
as a matter of fact.
First one called, "Tonight."
If I were to reach beyond my hands, nakedness colliding
with itself, bone dust complexion in a silent drift
toward the moon, I would, at the same time,
show you this fist, which reaches
inwardly to touch, finally, the lovely fossils of the palm.
You turn from me, toward the snowstorm of the pillow.
Look, I am the stranger you have come this far to love.