WEBVTT

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I'd like to read some slightly
more serious poems now.

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[LAUGHTER]

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This is, you'll probably
notice during the course

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of this very long 45
minutes that there are only

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three themes at play here--

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drink, sex, and death,
preferably in that order.

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[LAUGHTER]

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So, I'll just give you a
little synoptic run through.

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So this is the first
couched very firmly

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in the third person in case you
think this is autobiographical.

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"The Park Drunk."

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"He opens his eyes to a
hard frost, the morning's

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soft amnesia of snow.

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The thorned stems of
gorse are starred crystal,

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each bud like a candied fruit.

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It's yellow picked out and
lit by the low pulse of blood

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orange rioting in
the Eastern trees.

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But the snow has
furred to silence,

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uniformity, frost
amplifies, makes singular,

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giving every form of sound an
edge, as if frost wants to know

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what snow tries to forget.

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And so, he drinks for
winter for the coming year

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to open all the
beautiful, tiny doors

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in their craquelure of frost.

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And he drinks like
the snow falling,

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trying to close the
biggest door of all."

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