The One-Life Theory Reading Samuel Beckett

I was shy.
Always the feral animal quivered to be touched
and one stroke of lightning smote me.

It was electric. No
no, no it moved a dozen
leaves in the throat.

I have seen almost nothing.
My what-have-you-seen monitor
is snow-full, heavy without child
and there is beauty I know it
not breathing. Coo-me.

No, no.
No beauty don’t touch me
with those decibels. With frequency
a raccoon lumbers into the road
(have you heard this one)
a raccoon lumbers into the road
and saws the lumber in two

and his teeth are diamonds, no
no, his teeth are on my arm
and I am shaking I said

I am shaking my very own arm




The One-Life Theory Where No One is Excluded


Good God take your long cold look
like they do in the moving pictures.

I was a study in ash,
so lightly I breathed and the candle was

The thought of your hands is holding a bird
and snipping the tip of its beak with a nail clipper.

The thought of your hands on me
is eating what is clipped. The acolyte’s hair
in his eyes.

I must, dear Lord, in your robes upon robes
I move my hands in and out as though they are curtains
and you are one big day,

I must bring to my lips the hush of you
silent because you are looking so close

as I studied, Christ almighty, I bent over
as a woman knows well to-do
harangued, coat-hanged, I looked

so beautifully down for a while
the trash on the ground was my friend





Did I not love the beast, the nostril of the beast, fanning a woman in her Easter dress. Did I not touch the pond and in doing so the flagella, the tail of the tadpole, the sperm, did I not barricade the sperm; past this level of initial sadness do not ascend. Did I say no to the child, nononono no. Stay where you are in your clean dream with a balloon affixed to your delicate wrist. Did I not weep into my wrist, weep into the wrist as though it were beige office furniture. Was I not holding in my heart the sigh and the pink slip. I was wearing the slip, the fabric atop wishing to cling as one would to the edge of a crevasse. And the big damn holes, everywhere, I stumbled inside, did I not, I fell as one falls into the word love as one falls into the particular face of a word that does not smile, the mouth is a line, the mouth is a trolley straight to the loading docks, workers heaving boxes, the sky above failing cheer. Did you not love me I did not ask. Have you never torn into the earth, ripped up the saw grass as it imparts its honest reach. Are you not inclined to create a ruin for the tourist. Take me to the pasture I am waiting for a sign. Blindfold me and bind my hands and just leave me out there on a knoll.