Let's see.
I'm going to read a couple of bar poems, which
I think I said earlier today don't really make great poems.
But having done a stint as a bartender,
they come out of you, so--
this one's called "Happy Hour."
"You get one, and then you get another.
The most important faces are the ones you can't remember.
The Gothic translucence of her blue eyes and teeth,
heavy blue, rich Chianti.
Oh, gorilla, temptress, stranger, your exit
now would truly be a betrayal, now
that I am swelling with lymph and a fatal radiance.
It's just you and me and artifice now,
and I can tell you love my mind.
You get one, and then you get another.
It's a place without color.
It's a diary of space.
Little green bills grease the Catherine wheel,
a carousel of spices.
If they were flowers, the erotics of tea
would not be lost on me.
You really made a woman out of me.
Before that, I can't remember what I was.
A cell?
A cuff?
A girl?
A piece of pure doggerel?"