April 20 2004
One-thousand one-hundred seventy-three

the sign of the dead
my sooty finger
you are responsible
let the world be the world
make no promise
but promise

small cask
cardboard casket and no casket
secretly dead
love in the hinterland
every day a birthday
I want to talk to you now

grand impossible meaning
you are responsible
only for saying
rumour in the hinterland
a blue or quiet drowning,
cellular desire in a poem
shining mortality in a painting