Map Read Online Free PDF

professor?
    Â 
Severe brain damage following the accident
and yet—will wonders never cease—he’s come so far:
left right, light dark, tree grass, hurt eat.
    Â 
Two plus two, professor?
Two, says the professor.
At least he’s getting warm.
    Â 
Hurt, grass, sit, bench.
But at the garden’s edge, that old bird,
neither pink nor cheery,
chased away three times now,
his real nanny. Or so she says—who knows?
    Â 
He wants to go to her. Another tantrum.
What a shame. This time he came so close.

Snapshot of a Crowd
    Â 
    Â 
In the snapshot of a crowd,
my head’s seventh from the edge,
or maybe fourth from the left,
or twenty-eighth from the bottom;
    Â 
my head is I don’t know which,
no longer on its own shoulders,
just like the rest (and vice versa),
neither clearly male nor female;
    Â 
whatever it signifies
is of no significance,
    Â 
and the Spirit of the Age
may just glance its way, at best;
    Â 
my head is statistical,
it consumes its steel per capita
globally and with composure;
    Â 
shamelessly predictable,
complacently replaceable;
    Â 
as if I didn’t even own it
in my own and separate way;
    Â 
as if it were one skull of many
found unnamed in strip-mined graveyards
and preserved so well that one
forgets that its owner’s gone;
    Â 
as if it were already there,
my head, any-, everyone’s—
    Â 
where its memories, if any,
must reach deep into the future.

Going Home
    Â 
    Â 
He came home. Said nothing.
It was clear, though, that something had gone wrong.
He lay down fully dressed.
Pulled the blanket over his head.
Tucked up his knees.
He’s nearly forty, but not at the moment.
He exists just as he did inside his mother’s womb,
clad in seven walls of skin, in sheltered darkness.
Tomorrow he’ll give a lecture
on homeostasis in megagalactic cosmonautics.
For now, though, he has curled up and gone to sleep.

Discovery
    Â 
    Â 
I believe in the great discovery.
I believe in the man who will make the discovery.
I believe in the fear of the man who will make the discovery.
    Â 
I believe in his face going white,
his queasiness, his upper lip drenched in cold sweat.
    Â 
I believe in the burning of his notes,
burning them into ashes,
burning them to the last scrap.
    Â 
I believe in the scattering of numbers,
scattering them without regret.
    Â 
I believe in the man’s haste,
in the precision of his movements,
in his free will.
    Â 
I believe in the shattering of tablets,
the pouring out of liquids,
the extinguishing of rays.
    Â 
I am convinced this will end well,
that it will not be too late,
that it will take place without witnesses.
    Â 
I’m sure no one will find out what happened,
not the wife, not the wall,
not even the bird that might squeal in its song.
    Â 
I believe in the refusal to take part.
I believe in the ruined career.
I believe in the wasted years of work.
I believe in the secret taken to the grave.
    Â 
These words soar for me beyond all rules
without seeking support from actual examples.
My faith is strong, blind, and without foundation.

Dinosaur Skeleton
    Â 
    Â 
Beloved Brethren,
we have before us an example of incorrect proportions.
Behold! the dinosaur’s skeleton looms above—
    Â 
Dear Friends,
on the left we see the tail trailing into one infinity,
on the right, the neck juts into another—
    Â 
Esteemed Comrades,
in between, four legs that finally mired in the slime
beneath this hillock of a trunk—
    Â 
Gentle Citizens,
nature does not err, but it loves its little joke:
please note the laughably small head—
    Â 
Ladies, Gentlemen,
a head this size does not have room for foresight,
and that is why its owner is extinct—
    Â 
Honored Dignitaries,
a mind too small, an appetite too large,
more senseless sleep than prudent apprehension—
    Â 
Distinguished Guests,
we’re in far better shape in this regard,
life is beautiful and the world is