Read The Last Night of the Earth Poems for Free Online Page B

some
    time.
 
    then, say,
    he’ll be sitting with his
    wife
    and 3 or 4 other
    people
    discussing various
    matters
 
    he will be charming,
    incisive,
    original.
 
    then he’ll do
    something
    strange.
    like once
    he stood up
    unzipped
    and began
    pissing
    on the
    rug.
 
    another time
    he ate a paper
    napkin.
 
    and there was
    the time
    he got into his
    car
    and drove it
    backwards
    all the way to
    the
    grocery store
    and back
    again
    backwards
    the other motorists
    screaming at
    him
    but he
    made it
    there and
    back
    without
    incident
    and without
    being
    stopped
    by a patrol
    car.
    but he’s best
    as the
    Pope
    and his
    Latin
    is very
    good.
 
    his works of
    art
    aren’t that
    exceptional
    but they allow him
    to
    survive
    and to live with
    a series of
    19-year-old
    wives
    who
    cut his hair
    his toenails
    bib
    tuck and
    feed
    him.
 
    he wears everybody
    out
    but
    himself.

a poet in New York
     
     
    eating out tonight
    I find a table alone
    and while waiting for my order
    take out my wife’s copy of
    A Poet in New York .
    I often carry things to read
    so that I will not have to look at
    the people.
 
    I find the poems bad (for me)
    these poems written in 1929
    the year of the stock market
    crash.
 
    I close the book and look at
    the people.
 
    my order arrives.
    the food is bad too.
 
    some say that bad and good
    run in streaks.
 
    I hope so.
    I wait for the good, put a slice of
    lemon chicken into my
    mouth, chew
    and pretend that everything is
    fairly
    fine.

no sale
     
     
    I just sat in the bar
    non compos mentis.
 
    it was about a week before
    Xmas.
    big Ed was selling trees
    outside.
 
    he came into the
    bar.
 
    “Jesus, it’s freezing out
    there!”
 
    big Ed looked at me.
 
    “Hank, you go stand out there
    with the trees.
    if anybody wants to buy
    one, you come in and
    get me.”
 
    I stood outside.
 
    I was in my shirt sleeves.
    I didn’t have a coat.
    it was snowing.
    it was ice cold
    but a nice ice
    cold.
    I wasn’t used to snow
    but I liked the snow.
 
    I stood with the trees.
 
    I stood there about 20
    minutes
    then big Ed came
    out.
 
    “nobody come by?”
 
    “no, Ed.”
 
    “you go on in, tell Billy Boy
    to give you a drink on
    my tab.”
 
    I walked in
    got a stool.
 
    I told Billy Boy,
    “double scotch and water,
    Ed’s tab.”
 
    Billy Boy poured.
 
    “you sell any trees?”
 
    “no trees.”
 
    Billy Boy looked at
 
    the patrons.
 
    “hey, Hank didn’t sell
    no trees.”
 
    “whatsa matter, Hank?”
    somebody asked.
 
    I didn’t answer.
    I took a hit of my
    drink.
 
    “how come no trees were
    sold?” somebody else
    asked.
    “as the bee swarms to
    honey, as night follows
    day
    in the stink of time,
    it will
    happen.”
 
    “what will happen?”
 
    “somebody will sell a tree
    though it won’t necessarily
    be me.”
 
    I finished my drink.
 
    there was
    silence.
 
    then somebody said,
    “this guy is some kind of
    nut.”
 
    being there
    with those
    I decided
    I had no argument
    with
    that.

this
     
     
    self-congratulatory nonsense as the
    famous gather to applaud their seeming
    greatness
 
    you
    wonder where
    the real ones are
 
    what
    giant cave
    hides them
 
    as
    the deathly talentless
    bow to
    accolades
 
    as
    the fools are
    fooled
    again
 
    you
    wonder where
    the real ones are
 
    if there are
    real ones.
 
    this
    self-congratulatory nonsense
    has lasted
    decades
    and
    with some exceptions
 
    centuries.
    this
    is so dreary
    is so absolutely pitiless
 
    it
    churns the gut to
    powder
    shackles hope
 
    it
    makes little things
    like
    pulling up a shade
    or
    putting on your shoes
    or
    walking out on the street
 
    more difficult
    near
    damnable
 
    as
    the famous gather to
    applaud their
    seeming
    greatness
 
    as
    the fools are
    fooled
    again
 
    humanity
    you sick
    motherfucker.

now
     
     
    to reach here
    gliding into old age
    the decades gone
    without ever meeting one person
    truly evil
    without ever meeting one person
    truly