It was never a joke.
Hell’s not its own reward.
If one even thought of it,
then there it was.
But your classic humor
of the edge, of being about to —
and hanging on even for one last look —
that was truly heroic.
I thought “Sleeping with Women”
sounded like birds settling
in some idyllic edge of meadow
just at night fall.
So there I held on — put my head
down on the pillow,
slept with your words recurring,
fast in their thought.
Jacket 15 — December 2001Contents page
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