on how i became one of the invisible
fantastic and calm
and fantastic and sure of violence
david rattray is dead.
in his notebook
a page is adorned w/ question marks.
into thoughts of music
it drifts out
in doubled dream.
death rips these pages a flipped out bride
dull journals of american poets blowing weed
in love w/ each other’s eloquence
and beat madness.
through episodes of brotherhood
death conspires to reveal a sad smile,
& surprisingly so.
surrealism has come to america
to unify you angels
& to alert you
to uniformed fuzz.
& surrealism -
(artaud’s escapade, crevel’s sensual eye)
a charge of true love
& the translator’s translation of death:
come home to me, dear god.
thurston moore northampton, ma. ’01