Dear C: “The would life …”

We are nothing without the dreams of golden

Streets ahead of our passed and our 

Pasts, and our

Lasts and our final

Tasks which dreary!

And ways behind and lines which trailed the 

Coattailzzz of damn awful 


For there’s envy too, a jealous containment where 

Wonderful deeds are not heeded.

And the ledge on which those women and men and 




Did hurt you hard and long

Leads me, leads you, leads 

All of us 

Fine to decline an uglifying

Interpretation of 

All this goddamn life out there:

Of all that drives us spare.

For I am not only resilient to your patronising woefulness:

I claim my right to resist your 




ya, ¿OK? –

As you refuse not to diss the shit you 



And in this time and in this may

Of hardly Calcuttian 


Where mothers have acted hiddenly

And fathers could be 

No further from the 

Truth they once declaimed, 

Let us proclaim our grand attachment

To all that is life:

To everything you – Claire! – do represent for me:

To the do and the be and the C of wholly loving:

For we can either choose to want to drive ourselves in pain

That again and never over,

Never over,

Never [s]topped,

Or go back again and again 

And always to

That lived and loved and driven good insane of the real

Treasured treasurable woman of 

Fabu[lo][us] joy, and of the heartbreak and

My break and yours, I guess too: 

My future life and 

Thrive (yer know), could be – if only you 

Would let me see

Would let me do

Would let me touch

Would let me hold

Would let me bold 

Would let me now

Would let me then

Would let me wend my stealthy way

Around those thighs

And in that sex

About your wry and brainy thought

Above and over the cries of your lover

To some places so fine you’d forget him forever.

And then it would 

Be me, and then it would 

Be you, and then it would

Be us entrusted with rock of roll and rim and sin:

Oh how I’d love to run you in!

Oh how I want you now, 

Dear C …

… oh how I want you,


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