BLACK HORSE IN WHITE ENVELOPES
1 Boxes of meaning.
20 Little books about fire.
“Mask” in bed–“I don’t want
dad to know I’m afraid of
Suit of death.
want to disappear.
The word “erotica”
outweighed all the other clouds.
When talking about black horses
in white envelopes we are obviously
talking about very small horses.
It is important to tell just how,
if at all, the horses died, and to
be precise as to whether the horses
are figuratively dead or really dead.
The envelopes become less and less
But days later the envelopes
become more important in unexpected
ways. You realize very deeply
they are white, not off-white
or almost-white or anything-else-
white but white. They are also
very small, not much larger
than the small black horses.
Unspeakable boxes of the small
riders on the small black horses
placed in small white envelopes.
These boxes however small remain
good for breathing, fine for
breathing, but most of all remind
riders and horses and envelopes
alike of what a small gift breathing
Fire is the next time.
A little fire to read a little
book by by a little rider resting
her little horse before she remounts
to enter little envelope.
Father, dad, do you see how small
your daughter has become, if even
small for just a moment? As children
we often have this strange but adhesive
and natural sensation of the small.
It colors a world.
To color a world: black and white are colors.
We realize this now from the lack of black
and white films and black and white photography.
Together they served as one of the Masks Kim
could wear, Donna could wear, I could wear.
At the Hotel Vallejo you could rent
an umbrella for two dollars an afternoon,
death for five dollars an evening,
a relative for ten dollars (breakfast included),
and a suit of death for fifteen
(a special weekend rate).
If you rented the whole package you
could also disappear for a week
for another five dollars. It is of no
use to fall away from the hotel or to
pretend you are not interested.
Face it, M., you are interested.
Outside the hotel are small riders
on small horses and a word you cannot find.
The horses have not died.
The clouds have not died.
No one has died or come to.