Stealing Life

Closer and closer to fifty,
years turn months, weeks, days,
and I have trouble staying asleep.
Around two I get up to read
in the living room, then lie down,
this time on the couch, turning
the transistor radio to KGO,
distracting myself, returning,
life slipping away. For now it is okay,
pages left behind in the big red chair;
the disembodied talk show talk
an angry lullaby to quiet my own.
Readymade, it came again tonight:
One night I will simply not be here.
Which is not okay. But not okay
is okay too.

—Klipschutz

The Lugubrious Game

With my love
in my cold, old, dry hands,
I privatize my urges,
launching myself
into blank interiority,
falling into shapelessness.
All the remaining energy
leaves my body. It is strenuous,
abrasive and draining work,
and it is beginning to feel absurd
in a way that it never did before.
Perhaps even this uninspired pleasure
will be denied me
as I grow even older.

—John Tottenham