TO JEAN VALENTINE
our place
of harp
and john player
specials
our place dubbed
sligo’s hall
or simple hell
whose broagh forgets
new turns
the presence
before
a birth
before being born
or forgotten
still?
—Lawrence Welsh
ELEGY FOR JOHN WIENERS
Space defines old motels:
maybe the Jayhawker
in Kansas or hitching to Gloucester
for one last
Maximus go round
*
Who burns every letter
lets manuscripts go
like caged butterflies
keeps a room tight, squeaky
clean like vestiges are
no more?
They’ll have to pick through
erasers, chirp like black sparrows
see the beauty in absence
call up treats with invisible ink
dance around the table radio:
Mozart and The Supremes
Bird and a coroner’s cap
*
The stars hold with offshore breezes
the trinity of Olson, Duncan
and you never get left
they just search harder and farther
they just mumble and fumble
your name
—Lawrence Welsh
____
“Elegy for John Wieners” originally appeared in GYPSY
FOR HART CRANE
magnifier
of the
one
who
guesses–
hail
enlist
bridge
never needed
over
sand –
collapse
punctuates
steel
or
creeks
frayed
on
another’s list –
howl
on cue
bare fangs
crave a numbness
dubbed
rue
or
strasse royal
smoke
standing man’s pipe
rejected
or reflected in
another’s
untimely will
—Lawrence Welsh
IF HE’S DEAD
for Ed Dorn
in souls
bold enough
to chance
or break down
and whisper
peace will find
its own
reward
slip through ink
get removed
then stamped
on invisible pages
—Lawrence Welsh