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The Blog Bog
The Mag Rack
|
Intermountain
this
is
not
exactly
the way
I pictured
sixty
the
pleated
cups
of pills
yum
my little
sharp
objects
locked away
to
protect
them
from me
and
the young
psychiatrist
trying
to
understand
the whack
my life
is
out
of
Vince Corvaia
__
|
Domestic Life
O the fuzzy wuzzy grief!
- Gregory Corso
I was
a
giant
straddling
the
Hudson River
one
part of
me
vagrant
below
14th Street
drafting sestinas
on
napkins
at
the
Kettle of Fish
learning
wisdom
from
the cats
in
Wilentz's
8th Street Bookshop
a new
friend
and I
sobbing
in
the
lobby
of the
Bleecker
Street
Cinema
over
Les Enfants du Paradis
the
other
part
in
New Jersey
with all
its
sober
plaster madonnas
beseeching
on
their
matching
lawns
I
gave
it
all the thought
I had
in
me
at twenty-four
and
I
(my parents' lockstep child)
chose
the
path
of
most
resistance
Vince Corvaia
|
Retirement Village
the
sign
on
the freezer
door
Do Not Resuscitate
but
he
took
the gun
outside
and
the EMTs
never
saw
it
the neighbor
who
heard
the shot
found him
on
the
porch steps
and
thought
he had
aimed
for the heart
because
of all
the blood
on his
green knit polyester
when
he
hadn't
aimed
there
at
all
they
worked
on him
in
the
ambulance
and
the driver
shut
the
siren
off
at
the corner
of
Rock
and
Hydraulic
Vince Corvaia__
|
Paper Trail
all the
mags
that published
me
I sold
at a
big
yard sale
ten cents
apiece
the
only
draft
of my
phone booth
novel
was accepted
by
a Dumpster
with
all its
research
and I
waited
at
the window
for trash day
not
just
this time
but
whenever
I move
I lop off
a little
bit
more
of my
life
my past
what
my sister
calls
my disposable life
it's easy
saying
goodbye
to lovers
cats
journals
anything
that
keeps
me
from
the next
chapter
who knows
a year
from
now
maybe three
it could
be
me
Vince Corvaia__
|
