Disappear – My Euridyke
1967, New York, East River
I had learned to hate from Jackson Pollock
Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus
Those white, white sheets–
the unmade bed of the breakers and Venus
unkempt, unkempt, always fair
decanted from sleep, that hair—
a serpentine peignoir thrown over her shoulders—
I scrubbed my palette to nothing
but the colors of washing water and zinc buckets.
And embraced the iron light
between Broadway and Bowery,
and under the street lamps
the junkies, fellow bees in a hive of misery.
I loved my oppression
went up Cherry Street to the docks and–
drowned in her last experiment,
was a rat—
The dry carnation of her eye sparkled up.
If I bent down I would see
into the broken
swarm of bones—
I didn’t look at her
stared at me from the window of her underworld.
I didn’t care.
I believed my hand
could open any lock.
And even if not
as i progressed
I haven’t looked back once.
from the New York Review of Books