David Kirby
I began to eat that distance:
with my toe, I pulled the plug
and the water drained out of the tub
and me with it, into the Great Basin
of the Paris sewer where centipedes
grew, fifteen feet in length,
and time came to me and I to it.
First Hamlet wrote a dozen or sixteen
lines which he added to The Mousetrap
(actually The Murder of Gonzago) so that
the Player Queen said: "A second time
I kill my husband dead / When secondd
husband kisses me in bed." The result?
Nothing! In London, Agatha Christie
snows in a hotelful of guests in her
version of The Mousetrap and has
the detective arrive by skis to announce
a killer is on his way. Result? Nothing
again! At the first Ann Arbor Blues
Festival, Howlin' Wolf's drummer
begins to play "train time" as
the Wolf plays whistles on his mouth harp
and shouts "a-whoo!," and then
the people hear it: a real train in
the distance that the musicians heard
before they did and that is now an
instrument in the band, speeding
just behind the stage and shaking
the ground for hundreds of yards.
"This is where the soul of man
never dies," says Sam Phillips
of Chess Records, and the people
know it's true. Holy moly,
say the people! I say what is moly,
and why is it holy.
We regret that at the 1:45 mark, the Poematic locked up, depriving David of that remaining time. We apologize to Mr. Kirby and our readers [Ed.].
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