— Steve Kowit
This evening, the sturdy Levi’s
I wore every day for over a year
& which seemed to the end
in perfect condition,
How or why I don’t know,
but there it was: a big rip at the crotch.
A month ago my friend Nick
walked off a racquetball court,
got into this street clothes,
& halfway home collapsed & died.
Take heed, you who read this,
& drop to your knees now & again
like the poet Christopher Smart,
& kiss the earth & be joyful,
& make much of your time,
& be kindly to everyone,
even to those who do not deserve it.
For although you may not believe
it will happen,
you too will one day be gone,
I, whose Levi’s ripped at the crotch
for no reason,
assure you that such is the case.
Pass it on.
— Richard Brautigan
i talked a good hello
but she talked an even
The Private Intrigue of Melancholy
— James Tate
Hotels, hospitals, jails
are homes in yourself you return to
as some do to Garbo movies.
Cities become personal,
particular buildings and addresses:
fallen down every staircase
someone lies dead.
Then the music from windows
writes a lovenote-summons on the air.
And you’re infested with angels.
image: martin ramirez, horse and rider with large bugle, 1961
* Contributor Andy Fox has worked as a private investigator and a bartender. He’s also edited a book of poetry and plays in the D.C. band Nice Breeze. He has published The Dust Congresssince November 2002.