I know Jack the Ripper and Jack Palance.

I know Master Card, the King of Finance.

I know how laundry breaks up into two.

I know

how to get and hold the blues.

I know

that if lovers forget how to be

naked as the moon swimming in the sea,

and babies in cribs forgot how to rock,

and all that starts going forgets how to stop,

and my soul and my body

no longer speak,

and the pen I push no longer squeaks,

and my words dry up in the middle

of a phrase,

and this goes on

for days and days,

and you, the axis on which my world turns

leaves me to shatter,

and I have to learn

that all I’ve strived for is sheer vanity —- then

I don’t know what

would become of me.