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 Tom Konyves

To die    my hair     and live again. I am
in the middle of things, yet beginning
over and over
                            and over and over. To die
in the middle of things, yet beginning,
over mountains and skyscrapers, in the middle of things,
letters, bras, disbursement of money
also that which is paid out,
a Viking on the waters, spirit yet beginning, winning,
foot by foot, over and over, in the middle of things,
churches, nightmares, maidenheads, stockings on the dryer,
a kiss from the wall planted squarely on my lips
burning at the stake with onions, to die.
To die, my hair tied to stakes like Gulliver,
stretching from one end of the earth to the other,
my body floating, the sails of the earth.
Ahoy! Ahoy! To die my hair or not to
live again, in the middle of things, the apple-core
of living again, not living again, over and over
hurdles of living again or not living again,
yet beginning
To die     my hair     and live again. I am
in the middle, between north and south.
North/Alan 3455 Stanley St. 849-8294.
South/Astley 129 Anselme-Lavigne Dollard
des Ormeaux 684-2890 yet beginning, trimming
my hair, just a little off the top please,
leave the ears, I like pony tails,
the silence of airplanes, beached whales. Over
and over, in and out, first slowly, go shallow
then deep, shallow then deep, soft…soft…hard!
round, round, red light! slowly…slowly…yeah,
that’s it.
To die     my hair     is growing long, too
long , too too long, hold it right there, don’t
move, just like that, that’s it, that’s it, that’s it.
To die     my hair     long, red, white streaks,
too too long, too long, too.
To die in a forest fire, in city hall, in the
evening, quietly, alone, with friends, family clothes,
rags to riches, in a car, in a plane,
in a bird, in a Superman costume, in the middle of the night,
on roller skates, red pavement, begging change,
in a hearse, in an alley, in a soft bed
not of my making, raking leaves in autumn,
smiling at the camera, hold it, just like that,
that’s it, hold it, freeze!
Freezing, your arms around me, hugging me,
suffocating, strangled with my own belt,
shot! once, twice, in the head, between the eyes,
right between the eyes, son of a bitch
shoot him right in the eyes, in the back, shot
in the back, just like that, walking down the street,
minding my own business, when, shot!
in the bathtub, in the hallway, leaning on the glass,
nose pressed to the glass, candy, in a hospital,
with nurses smiling, cleaning the bedpans,
of old age, yesterday, suddenly, in my sleep, gone.
In the middle of things, bills unpaid, laundry, coffee,
writing a letter to my congressman, in love,
determined to change watching the river flow
ho ho ho get this, throat slit,
stabbed, over and over and over, watching TV,
just relaxing, watching TV. Poisoned! For what?
I put words in your mouth.
                                                  To die in New York,
in Little Rock, in Venezuela, in a canary,
in the Twin Towers, hand in hand,
in the Charlottes, in Kingston, in California, in Chicago,
in a garage, in India with my guru, in your mouth,
in your cunt, in your ass, in your belly, in your bed,
in your garage, in your living room,
relaxing, watching Mary Hartman, Mary. In Greenwich,
at midnight, in Detroit, in New Orleans, in French,
in Spanish, in Quebec, defending the English,
in Toronto, defending poetry,
in Noranda, in Alaska, in debt, in corpus delecti, inverted,
hung, well hung, in a hotel room, in Atlantic City,
under the boardwalk, insensitive in fact,
run over and over and over, on a highway not far
from here, in a disco, in a disco-bar, in a movie theatre,
smoking dope, shooting horse, Hh, never mind let things lie,
in the middle of things, yet just beginning, 1901, 1961, 1971,
in a computer riot, in a performance just like this, hold it,
hold it! just like that! that’s it!
To die in Montreal, in Vehicule, on Sunday at 2,
in a McCaffery reading, in a review of my book,
in reply to your letter dated, antedated,
in society, in anti-society, in my underwear,
in a year, inveterate, in confession, in a bathroom
at a party, in art only, in fiction, in a water tank trick,
in diving from a plane, in climbing the impossible mountain
with Julie Andrews, squinting at the sun,
in a playground, under a see-saw, in my lover’s arms,
in my enemy’s fort, scalped, dragged away and ravaged
by lions, in the mouth of the Euphrates, in the Nile,
in the Red Sea, in the St. Lawrence,
Superior, eerie. In the inn, having a couple, having
a meal, having multiple sclerosis, having my hair cut.
In a memo to mama, in your station wagon, after the dance,
at a cocktail party, in the Star, and the Gazette, in the Voice,
in the Times, in the chronicle of our times, in the pride
of my youth, under my skin, in my skiwear,
in my bathing suit, Voodoo! Voodoo!
To die     my hair     and live again. I am in the middle
of things, yet beginning over and over and
over an argument, over a woman, over money, over a
cause, over a right and wrong, over a game, yet
beginning, learning to say Da Da, moo moo cow,
unlearning horror, Mary. To die     my hair    and live,
with breasts like pomegranates, a tight ass, a big cock,
a sweet pussy, a lovely face, over and over, in the morning,
in the afternoon, in the front seat, in the back seat, incognito.
To live again in the middle of things, pastures, a farm,
a penthouse with skylight streaming with the sparkling stars,
overlooking New York, overlooking everything
that has happened between us, yet beginning, a germ
of the universe, a giant among men, distinguished by
a scar on the forehead, a mole above the lip. To live
again, over and over, my soul, wearing jeans and T-shirt,
to attach myself to the infinite typewriter ribbon.
heaven over and over must be missing an angel,
over and over and over, missing one angel, child, over and over
and over and over, cause you’re here with me right now,
sweet little angel, over and over, right now, heaven,
over, your kiss, over, you came COD, over, I’m captured,
over, it’s so good, so good, so good, over,
filled with tenderness, over and over
Yet beginning, in the
middle of things, which is the fire that emanated
from the celestial fire, when that firmament is illumined
there become revealed four mystical groupings of letters,
each beginning in the middle of things, Mary.
In the middle of things revealed, ships, customs houses,
elm trees, dakini, hostie, Houdini,
inspector, window-maker, pasta-maker, cloud-maker,
in the middle yet beginning over and over, to die
and live again, just like that, hold it, freeze!
That’s it. That’s it.

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