"Letter to a silvery mime in yellow."
"I knew you'd not adjust the tug on principle.
Even so, the reason I first sat and return where it's dirty
is sexual.
I cannot disabuse myself of motivation as an acorn might
its casing.
Then it helps you stand so straight to your postulate.
Then the world and Union Square Station
are painted on, if just you.
There are visits in a visit that have to do successively
with the stay.
I was wearing these pants in my last letter I think.
If there's a better boy way into metaphysics
again may I say yours is perfectly pulled across.
The sunniness signs that you somewhat more than silver did,
but these passers through carry pantries of selves
along, miss the pouring parasol, and think advertisements
about you.
Sell me nothing of your stilliness stock
so I can say so, even poorly.
I recognize my copy chief and dare her
to look at us when she throws me one
and turns it old as cola on the floor.
A way to stay to regulate.
Chance is in the long run concentrative you mean?
I am not a shade the same as you.
I am late.
You are like Kant's dove, winging a vacuum,
even inching not.
When I was 15 in the public library
I'd find in greater metropolitan phone books other Brians'
addresses and write away to them for help, Brian, dear
on principle.
Sometimes when I'm too much in the waves of us you wash in,
I'll find myself outside italicizing a wire of birds
with an imaginary cursor.
Or I am the cursor, and the wave won't take over.
Do you anticipate the drop of this before you?
Our trembling hangs on so twisted a stem;
even so, the 6 train runs beneath us
and stacks the two bills in your foot locker,
leveling an all along crisp dispute."