In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

153 PhYllIs koesTenbAum What Would I Do Without This World Faceless Incurious: A Cento When Abraham Lincoln was shoveled into the tombs: After such knowledge, what forgiveness. Because language dreams in metaphors, Like a thirst for salt, for my childhood river, I arise, I face the sunrise, never to kill myself. I hate them, as I hate sex— But I was going to say when Truth broke in Mine was the weight Of every brooded wrong, the hate— I must be mad, or very tired; the dead heat rises for weeks. O wind, rend open the heat, Cut apart the heat . . . Galileo, how are you? You are the underside, thinking Them persons was delighted. Others will see the islands large and small. Cold, uncertain of all. You’re on top. You call the shots. There is no shape more terrible than this— What is there to know? A rat crept softly through the vegetation Like ancient wallpaper. Life, friends, is boring, dour and dark against the blinding snowdrifts. still I’m alive on the Abraham Lincoln swing. I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations. It is 1959 and I go get a shoeshine— 154 now you are laughing. O sweet spontaneous! I am black and I have seen black hands, millions and millions of them. I think I may well be a Jew: Men kill for this, or for as much. even then I have nothing against life; I came to explore the wreck. Have you thought O dreamer it may be all maya, illusion? Walking naked, this is not vanity. “Love, O Careless Love.” I weep like a child for the past. ...

Share