PREVIOUS NEXT FIRST BIRDIE'S SHAVEN, but do not tell me about Death...

Modigliani's Nude Sdraiato
but do not tell me about Death

 I'm no umbrella like those other men
impervious to th'chilling rain of life 

I'm one Hell of a soggy shirt
soaked-through, short-sleeved 

although I'll grant you ample enough
to adapt to the quick, unexpected 

Explosions, collapses or expansions 

(romances): O was & were! so
do not tell me about death 

I'll tell you about life, instead: Tell you
what--I'll predict that

                  ... the most popular
T.V. Show of The Next Century will be

wait'n see

                     ... for the Sun
moves not all the while (down here 

somebody challenged me with: What'r you doing
with that hammer?

              ... I build my poetry
that way--into a multimirrored funhouse: 

peeking here & there: I glimpse (maybe)
a bit of myself (only as much as anyone
else may care to catch sight of 

before head'n home), Th'Sea moving softly
upon immensity like some corpulent cat 

stalking her shadow-Soul, and a too young prophet
shows us --What?

           ... but wait: How not to feel
(maybe): there's Future in it. O don't tell me 

instead--forgive me (for weeping): I'm in th'final
moments of my delusion
, or some-such shit 

whenever you have been called upon to look
you've had to content yourself only with: 

the empty discovery of things which can't go beyond
themselves (Imagination) a lot of lemmings

thinking they're getting a free ride to the beach 

and yet a prophet too young for tricks, may yet show you

    ... (the frogs in France croaking
with a French accent, or
the greatest diet supplement:

Horse Puckies--not only does one eat smaller portions
but it also spoils your appetite for everything else)

Superlatives? Gazonkas like tidal waves, or
Th'Most Human Truth of All (that Stink Sticks), that 

it is thousands of times better to live in a society
that is shocked by the report of evil deeds 

than in a society astonished when it hears of good
ones), O we have come to expect them... 

Mass murder (is) no longer of concern:
Let's turn our tears unto death individual! 

But let me warn you: what I have to show you
is something which your so creative hands,
recreating brains... won't be able to break 

--And this fact will so infuriate you
that you yourself...


                     ... yes, even You
magicians of The Modern

           (who can conjure up
any number of toys & vanish them 

all--with but a wave of your wallets) guts
looking down the cliffs dominating th'valley 

in their so cool mysteriousness (of flesh
love) failing to recognize that 

if it's not th'stones th'ones who spill their guts
it's only because they're not the ones possessed of
them &

             ... centuries passed

        ... then again I met the prophet    
too young, one day, who said: "In O a world
of sour grapes, my friend..." 

... the only thing that makes any sense
(to the drunks, at any rate) is wine,
wine... And, at any rate:  

...We have operators who speak Spanish
24-hours a day (even though they only work here 8
of those--their family & friends swear to it)

"Millions for crowd-control!" but not one
penny... amongst the presidential candidates

calling for Partial Unity... not 1 penny (even if
if saves a million) for (a) starving child
... I'll tell you more about it later

si: The beauty of Man is unique (and thus
a tragedy), only the beauty of Nature is without

tragedy, yes: Today you can live a long life, but
you still have to go through a lot of bother (read 

the fine print): this has been the ebb tide
of th'afternoon

          ... senseless bath of blood & blue      
without much form or joy washing the universe 

--a shapeless throat broke which (but breaking
in a scream) might have gone on for a moment only 

had not eternity/infinity/I chosen to perish
in its midst--No more

                             ... tell me no further lies about                         
death... [after which: all th'forests beasts
must have thought they were getting to eat The Wind
finally & not with a little

                                 ... relish--licking        
the too transparent glass-panes (separating them

 from our gentle humanity): two distinct beings (the one
who was THE original & the other one: the most original)

... QUALIFICATION:                                                          

             from our humanity: Our excellent       

good & so good humanity & good... like some fool
I asked him "Why do things happen!?" And he
answered me:

... "Pásan las cosas porque son  208
pequeñas, insignificantes, porque són cási
ínfinitesimas... las cosas pásan porque
casi no son nada, porque escasaménte son
cosas, las cosas pasan porque no importan
..." and so on he went on & on, I not
understanding him (and not because I'm stupid 

although I am, but) because I don't speak Greek
Precision is for screws & nuts

                       --It rusts them
(where it hurts the most)... But, why are you going?
--You can live here as long as I let you 

... I'm off to where I may also make
some of the rules
... Headline:

THE DESERT:                            

      ... a dried-out prophet
with nothing better to do than build (a bridge

before he came to it) came into town, his dirty head
scarffed in inefficient bandages, limping & cursing 

the Sun & begging for some water--such a sight
all th'villagers gathered around him as he spoke 

(spitting th'dust upon the ground) where the green was 

killed by his dryness speaking, he said "I will be
your rules-maker now"
about the great glens O 

so marvelously overbrimmed with the fresh, fresh green
he there had seen and th'wet, wet worlds all to be had 

if they but followed him across the desert at hand
and abandoned their piteous green well in hand 

so th'villagers stoned him to death for liar
& had all his followers torn apart by horses 

like French aristocrats did to democrats (back
in the good ole days before July 14th), and 

when th'newspapers asked them how they had known
     his words were lies--they said:

            prophets have no place
where people have already made up their minds
on their own future...

so do not tell me about Death ...
  either yours or mine 

The newspaper reporters asked then
yet a more basic question
--one which puzzled them to no end:

Who had told them they had already
made up their minds?

Oh-Oh  (they said)  

^{208} In Spanish, a pun on "Why do things happen?" which is usually asked in the form "Why do things go on (go by, get on, occur, etc.)?" ("Por que pásan las cosas?"). The 'prophet' naturally grabs hold of the simplest form in order to return the easiest answer: "Things go by (get by) because they're so small" --The key to the crude origin of the intellectual concept later developed from it-- "... So inconsiderable, because they are practically infinitesimal, because they're almost nothing, scarcely things at all, things occur (go by) because, in the end, they don't really matter..." A point well-made by the pun, and perhaps also implying that 'things too big to happen' (don't?)...?!?@