Autobiography # 1

I'm twenty five years old
I haven't seen much of the world
and what I've seen doesn't impress me
I haven't spoken to anyone yet
kind of kept to myself
watching them come and go
people I mean, some familiar others not
some friendly and others not
(and then there's this whole "sex" business
do I want her? does she want me?
I can never decide)

So
if a survey asked me to describe
what life is and how much I like it
I'd say: sure life is wonderful
very enjoyable very complicated too
is it worth living? absolutely!
it's just not for everyone
I'd rather be
oceanslime again



Autobiography # 2

I've spent my whole life covering up
my tracks name changes address changes changes
in personality occupation hairstyle wardrobe
I switched languages burned passports pictures bridges
always on the move always to stay ahead to escape
whatever it is most people can never escape
but I can I've become an expert in
vanishing the moment you shake my hand
I'm already miles away go ahead ask my friends
I'm a blank somebody they forgot
twice you will find me in no photo album
phone book or register like a dutiful censor
I expunge passages from my life's text
maybe one day I'll accomplish yes complete
self-erasure



On a Beach

The beach is filled
with the sea's puke
and unapologetic trash.

The ducks look vulnerable.
A giddy seagull
picks up a coiling earring.

The wind bruises.
The clouds are dense
like Philosophical Investigations.

Soon it is going to rain.
It isn't going to rain.
The waves swell up furiously.
There is tranquility in the waves.

It is a picture of stillness.
It is a scene of violence.
I feel perfectly at ease.
My rage is a wounded whale.