then awoke at 3: 40 AM <br />from a dream in dim flat light <br />could hardly see what was going on <br />even though my dream <br />street, no sidewalks, large trees looming <br />the dark wind of tears falling <br />onto wounded rooftops of decrepit houses <br />when Irving said, <br />“I saw Lou Reed’s ass at the Chelsea Piers <br />last night.” Both swim there. Possible. <br />His computer graphics web site nowhere for two years <br />then wants to interview me <br />on his radio station soon to appear <br />from his apartment, needing only FCC approval, <br />as the RABBI, former All Star wrestler from Alabama <br />when I only did that one summer <br />and who’d remember, <br />thinking I’m all he can get, <br />finally red bells under an ancient sea <br />Trakl’s voice pushing into mine, trying, <br />not possible, his life there, like <br />many of my narratives, drug abuse, insanity, suicide <br />and Irving so happy <br />never seen the lad so happy <br />Lou Reed’s ass sending him into artistic delirium <br />and what could I say having been bumped <br />into oblivion by those illustrious buttocks. <br />“My chance, Bernstein. I interview him <br />and everything’s gonna take off.” <br />Like the soft brains of that soldier splattering <br />into Trakl’s skull doing him in, <br />and beyond the door stretched necks <br />dangling on forlorn trees, too much, stuffed cocaine <br />into his veins with a sledgehammer <br />death the final solution <br />and Irving dreaming <br />never so happy as when dreaming <br />but never of his mother’s suicide <br />eight years ago, or the two <br />she spent inside a German whorehouse <br />in Bergen-Belsen <br />only twelve <br />and lost <br />ever since.<br /><br />Charles Chaim Wax<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/last-night-reading-trakl/
