IN STARLIGHT and in the hum of typing I admit it was I.I admit it was I who erased the posters in the mean street andit was I who ‘found’ the body. It was Iwho ‘discovered’ the plant and I who named it imperiallyafter my own self. Then I ironed out the language and Ishowed my work in the cruddy journals of the time.It is not the case that wax had dripped upon the pillow;this was not the sign. But it is that I invested public moneysin a variant distance off the shore in which the lighthouseseemed a tallow stick. I did indeed compose the philosophyand did so in broad daylight, bearing its illegible whips.In this way I aroused complexity in myriad roses—oh!pity the wild geranium and the denseblazing star… But to return to that night, indeed it was Iwho witnessed the overwhelming meat and precedenceof summer as it received one into a vexed relationwith the cooling effects of trees. It was I who circulatedthe yellow memo and I who poisoned the well. And I establishedthe literature, knowing full well the problems of the real worldto a less real one exquisitely apply. It was thus I of whom it was saidshe availed of little caution. I came to surmise on the porch of autumnwith citrus discs and beads of solar attrition. I was akimbo,I was inclined to fly. A flicker of madness. I had achievedmy historic high. And I knew just enoughto be toxic to the earth. In the raw bar of moonlightI projected my one feeling which littered the street and mobilizeddawn and the sun came down its high metaphor and distendedthe body’s odor and it was I who said something is rottenin the state… for in such palaces as these one is armed with barbsto the teeth… And yes,I darkened the web and I defrauded thepublican and on stormy nights I withheld from classificationthose very secrets which pierce the hearts of young historians.Indeed it was I to whom it was said SLOW. THE. FUCK. DOWN.And I did not.I lived in directionless desire. Intransigent. Bullish. I ventured outin viral fields. And I rode my bad scooter which killed the coral reef.I withdrew my affections which bolstered certain militias.And I suffered publicly excesses of feelingwhich eliminated the most well-bred of my rivals.It was under these circumstances that I came to speak forthe republic. And this is in the hot sun which burned to a cinderthe very thing I sought to make you forget and forgetyou have, drinking the choicest of my ales. And yetI have done only some of what I could do to secure my freedom.Of nuance I am the consequent animal. Unsubtle,I live in intricacies of the obvious. Into which I permityour entry. For indeed, yes, over this tooI maintain a modicum of power.