This poem is called "September Second," and kind
of part of a daily series I was writing for--
an unfortunately a short five day period of time.
But anyway, [CHUCKLES] but I'm still trying.
So "September Second."
And also one through five didn't work out well.
This is the only good one, folks.
Anyway "September Second."
"Dragging around some miserable wife on a real hike,
straight up a cliff of corn, and holding on to the silk
husks for dear life.
It's a little odd to vacation with your mistress
and the only one licensed to drive.
But no one else seems to mind.
A little disturbed but making up-- making it through.
Swelling up before noon, I dreamed
my abalone ring came apart.
Live fish and shell peeling off my finger
in a retail store of which you were the owner.
This day smells like toast."