The next poem, on page three, is called "October."
And it's about sort of being disappointed in October when
the leaves fall.
I'm from New England.
And New England is very proud of its fall foliage.
But somehow, the speaker here is disappointed by the leaves,
because they do not fall far enough.
Actually, I'm not the only one to feel this disappointment.
Rilke has a famous poem about the leaves
are falling from far, far away, as though from gardens up
in the sky.
It's the same kind of poem.
Both Rilke and I are disappointed
that the leaves are only falling from the trees.
We want them to fall from somewhere farther away.
So well, I take matters into my own hands
here, because they don't fall far enough.
So you'll see the plot as we go through.
October.
The leaves fall, but not far enough for me.
So I take one up to the top of my favorite high-rise,
the one whose TV transmitters watch farmers.
Out over the roof edge, I drop it.
But my eye swerves to the hemline of a nearby tourist.
I wonder if anyone will notice it.
The wind is certain to vacillate its journey.
A vacillation is a vagueness with intent.
And my leaf is light.
And has her camera caught me in the act,
prolonging it even further?
Her blouse blows.
But now I prefer most how she caresses the camera fondly,
a personal touch placed on what is, after all, a mere automaton
winking a robot eye.
Hmm-- H-M-M. Are mechanisms, like, say,
money or credit cards--
are they harder to put one's traits
on than a flower, for instance, or an ear of corn?
For example, I know someone who has a $5 bill taped up
on their wall with the name Frank Sinatra scribbled
across it-- an autograph, according to them.
But is writing or forging your name on money or on a machine--
does a signature make it more human, natural,
leafier somehow?
Hell, money is not a good example.
It's not mechanic.
I'm sorry.
Damn.
Back on the track.
The leaf-- back on the track.
The leaf falls.
The farmers farm.
And the tourist films till her camera's involuntary functions
are exhausted.
We head back down.
The elevator control panel blinks like a flight deck,
or star tech, or something.
Then I notice buttons on her skirt front.
I punch all the buttons on my shirt front,
not knowing which direction that will get me,
yet suspecting that it too will not be far enough.
[APPLAUSE]