But Anything Worth Doing Is Worth Doing

I Would Say Pittsburgh Softly Each Time Before Throwing Him Up. Whisper Pittsburgh With My Mouth Against The Tiny Ear And Throw Him Higher. Pittsburgh And Happiness High Up. The Only Way To Leave Even The Smallest Trace. So That All His Life Her Son Would Feel Gladness Unaccountably When Anyone Spoke Of The Ruined City Of Steel In America. Each Time Almost Remembering Something Maybe Important That Got Lost.

Are The Angels Of Her Bed The Angels Who Come Near Me Alone In Mine? Are The Green Trees In Her Window The Color Is See In Ripe Plums? If She Always Sees Backward And Upside Down Without Knowing It What Chance Do We Have? I Am Haunted By The Feeling That She Is Saying Melting Lords Of Death, Avalanches, Rivers And Moments Of Passing Through, And I Am Replying, "yes, Yes. Shoes And Pudding.

Duende I Can't Remember Her Name. It's Not As Though I've Been In Bed With That Many Women. The Truth Is I Can't Even Remember Her Face. I Kind Of Know How Strong Her Thighs Were, And Her Beauty. But What I Won't Forget Is The Way She Tore Open The Barbecued Chicken With Her Hands, And Wiped The Grease On Her Breasts.

Waking At Night The Blue River Is Grey At Morning And Evening. There Is Twilight At Dawn And Dusk. I Lie In The Dark Wondering If This Quiet In Me Now Is A Beginning Or An End.

I Ask Myself What Is The Sound Of Women? What Is The Word For That Still Thing I Have Hunted Inside Them For So Long? Deep Inside The Avalanche Of Joy, The Thing Deeper In The Dark, And Deeper Still In The Bed Where We Are Lost. Deeper, Deeper Down Where A Woman's Heart Is Holding Its Breath, Where Something Very Far Away In That Body Is Becoming Something We Don't Have A Name For.