LAST
CIGARETTE
1
I
am sick, alas, & you are the physician. Description
is
my favorite part of a book. I have written whole books
in
which no one says anything. If you ask me what
happened
I’d tell you you were wrong. It’s angelic to harbor
a
grievance for something that never happened. I tell a few
lies
to preserve my secrets. A nude scene without the
credentials
of a firebug, signed anon.
2
Someone
called & said their neighbor was harboring fugitivies.
“Don’t
tell them I told you,” he said, & hung up. I saw a skirt
hanging
on a clothesline from the window of a train. The prisoner
unfastened
his shackles when the turnkey was sleeping. You
can
tell the police your story but don’t expect them to listen.
Stop
the car at a crowded intersection & take off your clothes.
It
doesn’t matter where I am if you aren’t here.
3
At
night, we fall asleep listening to the radio & dream of snakes.
My
favorite song is “Backstabbers” by the O’Jays. There was
cat
food on a plate and dust in the air and from the bedroom window
you
could see office buildings, water towers and bridges.
A scratchy record is our only testimony to regret. It was possible
to
dance by oneself, and in this way attract numerous partners,
who
would circle around you in the center of the living room
without
touching. Then a slow dance comes on and everyone
evaporates
into thin air.
4
But
I never wanted to be the person who judged anyone, or be
judged
in return. It didn’t matter to me, if the earth opened & we
fell
into the chasm, who was saved, in the end, who was left
standing
at the final buzzer. There was a way of taking your
thoughts
to a point where they existed outside your mind, like
colors
in a prism when you hold it up to the light. You have
to
hold on to the light a little while longer; only then can you
unfasten
your cufflinks, take off your shirt, & get into bed.
5
My
eyes grow tired during the day. I used to stay up all night
but
now I get tired at midnight or even earlier. A wave of
sleep
comes over me & I close my eyes. My mind wanders as
I
read. But as soon as I get into bed & turn off the light
I
begin thinking of things that happened in the past. Some of
the
memories cause pain, but most of them are pleasureable.
The
reason I want to remember them is to relive the pleasure.
But
the painful memories resonate as well. (Sometimes
I
have to get up & take a pill to put me to sleep.)
6
It’s
all we can do to put the pieces back together, a random
unit
where even the stars are out of focus, & the shadows fall
like
shards of glass across the empty lot behind my house.
As
a child, that’s where I went, to pick pears off a tree. If I didn’t
pick
them they would just ripen & fall to the ground. Recapture
the
moment, a kind of still life, before it dies. Knock on
someone’s
door & ask for something hot to drink against
the
long night ahead. We can sleep the sleep of forgetfulness &
never
wake up. A man comes into a diner & holds a napkin to his
lips.
A swelling around the side of the mouth in the shape
of
a question mark, but no answer.
7
Tell
me something you never told anyone. The security guard
monitors
the occupants of the elevators from the lobby. Hold the
door
open for the woman with packages. You give up part of
your
body to someone who needs it. You give away what you value
most
to someone who doesn’t care. A list of words in different
languages
that mean the same thing. Faithful light of morning
with
the wind in our faces.
8
Number
holds sway above the flux.
Progress
is not of the mind
but
the hand.
Principles
come first; deduction follows.
All
the notes can be played at one time.
The
footfall of a cat.
The
roots of a rock.
The
head of a worm.
The
breath of a fish.
The
Galapagos islands: a state of mind.
Beware
of still waters & overly obedient children.
The
colors of her dress merged with the landscape.
It
was something Lauren Bacall might have worn in 1950.
9
This
is just the beginning of someone else’s story. If we
make
a mistake the first time, we can try again. If we lose
our
balance we might fall to the bottom. Being in denial
is
just another form of stupidity. The doctor who was on duty
wrote
me a perscription for pain killers. I offer my guests
a
plate of bowtie cookies. It
occurs to me that my audience
consists
of no one but you.
10
Come,
let us make a human being
in
our own image. You can see it in a new light
now
that it’s already happened.
If
your mother calls I’ll tell her you’re still asleep.
We
all have two points of reference:
maternal,
paternal,
but
distance is everything,
a
name you can’t remember.
Weight
on eyelids of first spring rain.
Mothwings
flattened against a bulb.
A
pitchfork leaning against the side of a barn.
Colored
ribbons, fusilage, the map of intransigence.
Islands
off the coast of Alaska where
we
can go for a holiday. A
voice on the intercom:
is
there a doctor in the house?
11
All
transitions are seamless, & this is true of the body as
well.
It requires you to put one foot in front of another--& when
everyone
stops moving you continue, you go on. We have another
plan
& it isn’t plan B. Fish dart out of the crevices when they
see
you coming. There are stones embedded in the surface
of
the reef. This is the park where I played after school
as
a child. This is the room where I lost my virginity. This
is
where the banks of the river overflow.
Coda
He didn’t think of himself as a
separate person. When he had
something to tell someone he told it to
them in his head. It was
possible there was nothing in his head
but these voices. He
was attached to his mother by strings
that were invisible to
everyone but himself. Whenever his
mother left the house he
followed behind her. As he walked he had
conversations with
all the people he used to know, his high
school teachers, his
friends from nursery school. Sometimes a
gypsy in a long skirt
was dancing on a stage in his head &
he was standing in the
background clapping his hands. The swirl
of her skirt hypnotized
him. It consisted of numerous
multi-colored patches stitched
together & she had a disorganized
look in her eyes. She stamped
her shoes on the floor of the stage
& shouted out words to the
audience. The words seemed to be coming
from the depth of
her being, some inner core. It was an
animal sound, & combined
with the loud banging of her feet,
reminded him of a herd
of horses rushing along the edge of a canyon, a virtual stampede.