My Vocabulary Did This to Me: The Collected Poetry of Jack Spicer

“They are selling the midnight papers . . .”

“We find the body difficult to speak . . .” We find the body difficult to speak, The face too hard to hear through, We find that eyes in kissing stammer And that heaving groins Babble like idiots. Sex is an ache of mouth. The Squeak our bodies make When they rub mouths against each other Trying to talk. Like silent little children we embrace, Aching together. And love is emptiness of ear. As cure We put a face against our ear And listen to it as we would a shell, Soothed by its roar. We find the body difficult, and speak Across its wall like strangers. “They are selling the midnight papers . . .” Every street has alleys and within the alleys There are criminals and policemen. I said, “Tonight The moon is like a dead gangster.” I heard him giggle like a hound. “The moon,” He said, “is spooky. We should lie upon our backs And howl.” And so we walked, uneasy, wondering If there were justice anywhere Within this midnight city, Spicer: My Vocabulary Did This to Me page 22 22 Or how, without a hat, one could distinguish A vice-squad member from a glass of beer, Or whether if one met them walking hand in hand One could tell Bugsy Siegel from Virginia Woolf. They are selling the midnight papers, The moon is wearing brass knuckles. “Any fool can get into an ocean . . .” Any fool can get into an ocean But it takes a Goddess To get out of one. What’s true of oceans is true, of course, Of labyrinths and poems. When you start swimming Through riptide of rhythms and the metaphor’s seaweed You need to be a good swimmer or a born Goddess To get back out of them Look at the sea otters bobbing wildly Out in the middle of the poem They look so eager and peaceful playing out there where the water hardly moves You might get out through all the waves and rocks Into the middle of the poem to touch them But when you’ve tried the blessed water long Enough to want to start backward That’s when the fun starts Unless you’re a poet or an otter or something supernatural You’ll drown, dear. You’ll drown Any Greek can get you into a labyrinth But it takes a hero to get out of one What’s true of labyrinths is true of course Of love and memory. When you start remembering. Spicer: My Vocabulary Did This to Me page 23 23 ...