Paradise

CAT PURRS to have tongue tucked in, burrs in gray hair.Light through a curtain fills a room. At the bottom of a gray spoon old coffeehas hardened into a brown stain. I love baggy shirts. References provided uponrequest. Turned upside down, the cups dry in a rack of dishes by the sink. Therefrigerator gives a shudder, then is silent. Even through the curtain one feelsthe clouds passing in front of the sun. Congruence of images implies a place. Weclose our consulate in Iowa City. The better galleries are near the larger banks.Western Carloading. Some phrase might haunt you for a decade. The needle arm liftsmechanically off the vinyl disk.Something beyond ravioli is a cup of hot tea. Wooden squares compose the table.The half shadows of indirect lighting. Another morning is extra. The cat’s ear isgouged. The azalea petals seem dry. The kettle rattles when the water boils. It hasa wooden handle. The work is “explained” through a description of the socialcircumstances under which it could have been written. Lately there’s been an argument,but it feels like we’ve been bickering for weeks. Alcohol being merely a slow form ofoxidization. A man on the sidewalk clears his throat. I’m not sitting in the desertreading Keats. Once begun, the day is soon over. In her world, OD means organizationaldevelopment. Like all the swoops and squiggles Pollock ever made.Where the beer and the canteloupe play. Becuase the polling place is at the topof the hill, the old widows at the bottom seldom vote. Blueberries in a white bowl.

(Ron Silliman. Paradise. Providence: Burning Deck, 1985. 27-29.)