….on the fussy train, the peach slice of sky
i ate before leaving the promised land =
trans-formations = a schoolboy between dad
and step-dad, sardinia and canada, a bit ruffled=
wedges of conversation with sam § he’s nearly thirteen
and has no memory of the tsunami = I ask him =
how i envy his wish to explore tectonic plates
at first hand near Taunton,
his blankness about Winterreise and other
depresssive exuberances, like stevie who’s going, will leave
his mask and whooped-up arms back in ’05 as he jets to LA =
world-class, the only one, a litter of wreckage
as the philosopher Bill said it would
end up if we don’t stick together.