the terrible sea, 1978

so many photographs of you
in the terrible sea . . . . playing pick me up
and set me down . . . . arrows of colorado's
deception your cool base like salvation
in the marrow . . . . fanatic thoughts rise
to the six/three time of these lips
turn me on, darling . . . . like the silver spaces
in your days . . . . these hands are unknown
lightening . . . . forger's hands thiefs of your breath
magicians of . . . . our molecular interface . . . . o yes
skintight . . . . wellknown vaudeville act . . . . . only
for each other's eyes — I allahs say
it matters you allahs say it doesn't,
such a weird percentage in these odds
you've just been . . . . . a jetplane in
seriograph . . . . . I know you're breathing
sad even breaths . . . . timely rememberings
six on the breath . . . . . your divine selves
in the exchange. how to trust me no way
but to do it make me out on such sad
disorganized ohso well known days: let's be
teenagers darling the aching in these thighs
are not for children but glowing cadmium
desire . . . . . enough let's go to drivein movies
make love in the backseat turn each
other sophisticated in a bluelight of memory
see dozens of sad unwatchable tales
on our own celluloid promises another
hundred thousand come to me's secret but
publicized in the perdido of our hearts
I know what you feel . . . . why won't
you open those sweet wings . . . . one more time
just because I am the knife of your true death
this is a last chance and what's more—
colorado, corpus christe, eys & hands & time,
you know it's worth it

come to me



It is truly a wonder I survived my twenties. I needed a lot of sex in those days and I still probably am more sexual than most men my age. The biological drive, combined with my understanding of myself and my idea of romance, caused me to make mistake after mistake, to become driven by a kind of personal darkness. Not entirely free of the darkness to this day, I am at least free of the relationships from that time. I loved Pat, but she really never liked my work and that made it impossible to be with her after all those years where she supported me while I wrote. I loved AG and sometimes she loved me, but mostly she dissembled and spent her life in various different realities, keeping them resolutely separate. I believe that relationship led me into the situation where I fell in love with BLF. Beyond that, her relationship with her father seemed to ratify for Becky Bradway my ability to deal with someone who was an incest survivor. A fact I wasn't to find out about BB for twelve years. So, it is true for me that one thing apparently led to another, all through this course of years. Ultimately, by appealing to the Lady's grace, I came to meet Kimberly, who is simply not like any of my other romantic attachments. Perhaps I have gotten to a place of security here, in the sense that I am primarily concerned with her well being and with the well being of my children. This does not let me off the hook for the enormous errors of the flesh and of the heart that I have made these many years. For that, I must go to the Lady and seek Her mercy. But I am pretty confident that the universe is merciful to those who struggle to be honest. If I am wrong, there will be other penance to be paid. I accept that possibility, also. This poem is specifically about Alison Gaughan, though it was written somewhere in the time after I was forced to break up with BLF and when Pat Smith and I were living on South Grand. This was pretty much the last time I was at all intimate with AG and she was already well involved with Tony Kallas at this point.