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such a terrible childhood!

(she was so beautiful it almost stunned one to look at

her.)

Fuch looked at Raymond: hey, your glass is empty.

yeah, said Raymond.

Fuch touched a button and the English butler silently

glided in. he nodded respectfully to Raymond and in his

beautiful accent asked, another drink, sir?

yes, please, Raymond answered.

the butler went off to prepare the drink.

what hurt most, of course, continued Fuch, was the name

calling.

Raymond asked, have you never forgotten it?

I did for a while, but then strangely I began to

miss the abuse…

the butler returned carrying Raymond’s

drink on a silver tray.

here is your drink, sir, said the butler.

thank you, said Raymond, taking it off the tray.

o.k., Paul, Fuch said to the butler, you can

start now.

now? asked the butler.

now, came the answer.

the butler stood in front of Fuch and screamed:

fucky-boy! fucky-baby! fuck-face! fuck-brain!

where did your name come from, fuck-head?

how come you’re such a fuck-up?

etc….

they all started laughing uncontrollably

as the butler delivered his tirade in that

beautiful British accent.

they couldn’t stop laughing, they fell out of their

chairs and got down on the rug, pounding it and

laughing, Fuch, his lovely young wife and Raymond

in that sprawling mansion overlooking the shining sea.

ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha

monkey feet

small and blue

walking toward you

as the back of a building falls off

and an airplane chews the white sky,

doom is like the handle of a pot,

it’s there,

know it,

have ice in your tea,

marry,

have children, visit your

dentist,

do not scream at night

even if you feel like screaming,

count ten

make love to your wife,

or if your wife isn’t there

if there isn’t anybody there

count 20,

get up and walk to the kitchen

if you have a kitchen

and sit there sweating

at 3 a.m. in the morning

monkey feet

small and blue

walking toward you.

thoughts from a stone bench in Venice

I sit on this bench and look

at the sea and the freaks and the

lovers.

I need new eyes a new mouth new

pillows, a new woman.

every old stud with half an eye in

his head loves to charm and ride

a new young calf.

when I think of womenless men mowing their

Saturday lawns and playing football,

baseball, basketball with their sons

I feel like vomiting into the far

horizon.

the family stinks of Christ

and the American Stock Exchange.

the family stinks of safety and

numbness and Thanksgiving turkeys.

the family stinks of airless packed

automobiles driving through

redwood forests.

I need new eyes a new woman new

ankles a new voice new betrayals.

I don’t want a long funeral

pro cession when I die.

I want to move on without weight

or obligation.

I want just the sullen darkness I want

a tomb like this night now:

me here undiluted—

solid, cranky, immaculate.

I hold fast to me. that’s all there

is.

(uncollected)

scene in a tent outside the cotton fields of Bakersfield:

we fought for 17 days inside that tent

thrusting and counter-thrusting

but finally she got away

and I walked outside

and spit

in the dirty sand.

Abdullah, I said, why don’t you

wash your shorts? you’ve been

wearing the same

shorts

for 17 years.

Effendi, he said, it’s the sun,

the sun cleans everything. what

went with the girl?

I don’t know if I couldn’t

please her

or if I couldn’t

catch her. she was

pretty young.

what did she cost, Effendi?

17 camel.

he whistled through his broken

teeth. aren’t you going

to catch her?

howinthehell how? can I get

my camels back?

you are an American, he said.

I walked into the tent

fell upon the ground

and held my head

within

my hands.

suddenly she burst within

the tent

laughing madly,

Americano,

Americano!

please

go away

I said quietly.

men are, she said sitting down and rolling down

her stockings, some parts titty and some parts

tiger. you