And as for
when exactly it took place it
had to be somewhere on
that drive, because
it was all over by
the time we arrived (I
only say Tomah because
I know someone from there);
one drive but
two lines, and
if I can
just find the break I’ll—
but it’s not the
answer that’s wrong it’s
the question: I
don’t know what a
line is because I don’t know where
it ends, even if
I do know the poets
are wrong it’s
not a period a substantive the
end of a thought, but
nor is it that
preposition that article you
sought to overlook, it
keeps changing, the
break is elsewhere—
and so you return
to it time and
again to
that break that
constantly writes it-
self anew.
I would eat Special Crisps
like a poet, one after the
other, not that it wasn’t
embarrassing, to enter that
candy shop near the park,
near the fountain, on that
street that I see running
hard and straight toward
the bottom left hand
corner of the page, I’d have to
buy one, devour it
somewhere, then stealthily
round the corner, wait for
the time it took me to rap
a verse of a song, then go back,
they’ll have forgotten me by
now, repeat, repeat (four was
my record, which doesn’t seem
all that bad now, but) at the time
all there was was the taste of those
Special Crisp bars and the light
in those mountains and beyond.
