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Jim Carroll
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These poems were taken from Fear of Dreaming,
Copyright © Jim Carroll, 1993
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Love Story
The penalty for desertion
is death by firing squad
I'm saving you this trouble
enclosed is a pistol
loaded with only one bullet
squeeze the trigger once
perhaps nothing will happen.
but squeeze a second time...
a third time... You see
I know the games you love.
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Leaving N.Y.C.
I spent a wonderful day
with two real Dutch ladies
in postcard outfits
in front of a pleasant house
with a brown tiled roof
and a brick facade with blue windows
not thinking about poetry, music,
movies, paintings, priests or nuns,
or you.
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Maybe I'm Amazed
Just because there is music
piped into the most false of revolutions
it cannot clean these senses
of slow wireless death crawling
from a slick mirror
1/8th its normal size...
Marty was found dead by the man literally
blue 12 hours after falling out
at the foot of the Cloisters
with its millions in rare tapestry
and its clear veiw of the Hudson
and even testing your blue pills
over and over to reverse
my slow situations
I wind up stretched across the couch
still nodding with Sherlock Holmes
examining our crushed veins
Richard Brautigan,
I don't care who you are fucking
in your clean california air
I just don't care
though mine are more beautiful anyway
(though more complex perhaps)
and we have white flowers too
right over our window on 10th ST.
like hands that mark tiny x's
across infinity day by day
but even this crumb of life
I eventually surface toward
continues to nod as if I see you all
thoughtlessly
through a carefully inverted piece
of tainted glass
shattered in heaven
and found in these streets
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