for Diane Wakoski

No ideas but in things,
said Doc Williams.
Christ! I must have
an awful lot of ideas.
God knows I have
an awful lot of things.
I never have enjoyed
the luxury of living
with nothing, even
next-to-nothing.
I never learned
the lesson of seeing
“isolate in the beauty
of separateness”
each thing by itself.
Unto itself, itself itself.

Jay Gatsby, opening the bureau
to display all his shirts …

I was planted in a crib
of things—ducks, dolls,
rattlers of the non-poisonous
variety. Growing up, I collected:
Dixie Cup lids, baseball cards,
matchbox cars. Live things, too:
My gerbils begat unto the umpteenth
generation. College years, things
worsened. I hated library books,
still do. Worth reading,
wo ...

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