The Ring I Just Bought, & Wear: My Energy Ring to Salomé X, at Her Parents' House, Corpus Christi, Texas from Michael X., at His Mother's Home in No. Hollywood, Flordia

19 BENEDIKT MICHAEL BENEDIKT THE RING I JUST BOUGHT, & WEAR: MY ENERGY RING TO SALOMÉ X, AT HER PARENTS' HOUSE, CORPUS CHRISTI, TEXAS FROM MICHAEL X., AT HIS MOTHER'S HOME IN NO. HOLLYWOOD, FLORDIA This is not a ring. This is simply a something To divide the nighttime from the day, the shadow From the window, the wish from the literalized dream, & such. This is certainly a curiously binding thing, This ring, but don't take its symbols too literally, please, Scarab, ace-of-spades, heart, hawk, duck, much less this Star and Crescent Moon, they're All for energy; - they say STOP To the hand as it reaches forth so seemingly blindly Towards somebody very sweet, it says STOP ME Unless you're willing to listen as you feel, and THIS IS MY CODE. I'm sending it over, across collar, comforter, 'Cross tabletop between the two huge cups of coffee, or even wine, 'Cross that vast room where a thousand people are talking, Wherever I'm looking at you or even if I'm looking for you It doesn't matter, this is the ring that could mean anything BUT, DON'T MISUNDERSTANDME. The fingertips sway seemingly lightly To your cheeek; but visualize, if you will, a Mack Truck Falling through a hole in the sidewalk on a hot summer's night, —My love's just as casual as that. I give your nose a tap To see what taps back. Listen to me, Salomé, — I'll listen to you, too, Because you know 'bout North & South, you're a poet And doubtless you've read all your Wallace Stevens Northern-Southern Comparisons; and then, down there in Texas, as a literal point of reference there must always be The Panama Canal. We think about that and (surely) W. Stevens and Yourselves and you, and myselves and me, don't we? Salomé, I've got so many stories To tell. This ring's not simple. This ring's not a tie, It's a strap, winched tight, across even one tiny finger unless loosened — Sort of a bit of a little guillotine for the fingertips — That says, the rest of the body's lopped off without A prayer, unless when, where and when you're there, m'dear, you're really THERE. 20 THE MINNESOTA REVIEW So, tell me your (songs and) stories, Arab Salomé; let's dare, & truly, to compare our energy. Dec. 24, 1977 RALPH BURNS WORKSONG Gone for awhile, the low saw's buzz hangs in our sweat, a walk through miles and miles of leaves and wet limbs. All still when work is still, the worksong sits in blue fields ready for the sun. Why does the grass grow so near it? When do pennies fall? The worksong cares but doesn't know. It starts around the tapping of nails, the brass left out all night by children and the moon. Now, sing it together so we have it. Before winter drives us in. Sing it for the roots and stumps, once tall wives lovely in the doorway, who crawl home now, hurt and slow. ...