I don’t write autobiographies.
Just its situational overlays,
twists and U-turns,
people puzzled together
from pieces of so many.
I change the names
to protect the names.
I throw in something
I saw in a movie once —
a Marx Brothers comedy mostly,
in glorious black and white.
Somehow
from that conglomeration
poetry surfaces.
It’s like prose
but more of a show-off.
And it reflects how I see things.
Sometimes by espousing
the very opposite.
Agility comes into play.
Intelligence sometimes.
But ideas I leave
to then bad imitations.
The thing about the Marx Brothers
is that only in absurdity
is there hope of anything making sense.
Hence, this bargain
in terrible faith.
Likewise the confession,
held to no account.
