I’ll write about it for a few minutes.

What’s that called when they squeeze the air

out of a needle? When your hawk flies low?
Rust will help me move like a horse in a

winterfield shifting the weight from one leg

to the other. Talk to me––the rapist, she

said she loves him. Anne Frank, she loved

them from behind her hidden book case. If

we had white pens could we write on your

black dress about spelling errors in subtitles

of foreign films? A Bosendorfer piano made of

Leggos. Waiting room TV shows brutal stabbings

while on gurneys dead bodies pass, passing

the funerals & weddings called off. The doesn’t

that doesn’t come. What they don’t tell you

about yin & yang & elk slow moving in a

blizzard, Ella Fitzgerald’s legs, bears coming

out of stars, hundred year old pines, what

death is like for people with autism, what

Dante knew when speechless intellect sunk

into the abyss more deep than brain cancer––

it eats through paranoia like M.S. does myelin.


1 April 1995


Spoken word version from Walking thru Hell Gazing at Flowers.

Copyright © 1996 by Jim Cohn.

Text from The Dance Of Yellow Lightning Over The Ridge (Writers & Books Publications).

Copyright © 1998 by Jim Cohn.