Collected Poems September 9th a Sunday.
1. 9:27. a.m.
it's 9:27. a.m. our lounge room
standard time    why are my hands
shaking?    why are the french doors shaking?
that's not a breeze bouncing
like a wrecking ball off
the west wall!    a storm outside
and Weill's "Berliner Symphonie"
inside!    Jubelnd    if that
is possible? the coffee
is brewed
2. Gouttes de Pluie.
Apollinaire tapping on the french doors p gouttes de p p p l p l l p l u l u u l u i u i i u i e i e e i e e e
3. Kind of Blue.
Melting note
into air
laid flat
emerges again
sharp
Dabs blue
as a cloud's
vellum sound
in shape and
space
4. Custer's last poem to Gertrude Stein.
arrows   arrows   arrows
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