from Syracuse, New York.
In
one, it is Sunday,
and you are on the lawn,
swallowing icecubes, and I am designing
the children. Behind us the house
is sleeping like a baby,
like a fort. Either
my eyes were blue
or the world is paler
now.
If
only you
could see us then Isolde!
I was not handsome.
Bu t in the new
edition of our collected love–
letters, there is an awful
mistake. I never said
you were beaut iful. I said
your eyes your hands your hair
were beautiful. I said
scorn is the glove of seduction
and lonely is the light
shining in all our hearts.
John Romano
GETTING IT STRAIGHT
For Paul Blackburn
Here, two nights ago, a quiet
residential street: it was
actually very early morning
in
this small town--a girl of nineteen
was shot in the head by "person or
persom unknown" which one paper immediately speculated
