Dear Friends

It was like this.

It was this way.

Here was the way it was.

This is how things stood:

Silently. Still. At attention.

That was one moment and

unfortunately this world is

all about one moment to another.

In the next moment everything was

swirling and it was as if I was a

plastic man crouched in paralyzed

terror in a snow globe filled with

sand and loose garbage and shredded paper,

cupped in a pair of giant hands

that never stopped shaking.

I felt so small and yet still

could not bring myself to answer

the phone or return your calls.

They have a term for this feeling, I’m

sure, and a remedy whose name would

fit conveniently on ballpoint pens

and pocket protectors and desk

calendars and NASCAR jumpsuits.

But, anyway, listen:

I apologize. Truly, I am sorry.

Surely nobody chooses to feel

like their skin has been

turned inside out and salted.

I suppose I learned too early

that they have a word for everything,

and that has been a ceaseless torment

as well as an occasional delight.

You should do me a favor and take

my dictionary. I would miss it,

but, really, you should. I beg of you,

take that fucking thing and feed it to the dogs.

You see, it was like this.

It was this way.

This was the way it was:

The library was the garden

where my mother took me for

swimming lessons and I

learned to drown.