dummy

But you are not even hearing me.
You are a hilltop standing
behind a house. You are an A-frame
behind an A-frame. Snow slides
down you and hits the ground. You
don’t even feel it. The snow bumps,
bumps: what’s that going to feel like?
And yet you want so much that is cosmic:
the A-breath on the dandelion
and the wheel in flame, the living wreck.
How is that going to be possible?
When the earth you don’t believe in
is not even real for you, not yet. And it won’t be
if we don’t hit the ground running.

         I want to be your noose if
         you want a noose: your little Joshua,
         your Jericho; your sunscreen and
         your snake-oil; the tablecloth for
         your jelly donut, the biscuit for
         your tea; your Rodney Dangerfield,
         the peanut butter on your Do-si-do.
         (In short, the kind of man you can
         make a mess on.) But I can’t be the
         brandy you leave outside the door.
         Call me a moron. I can be the
         brandy you drink. Outside the
         Mini-Mart, I’m waiting in the car: will you
         at least go in and buy the wine?