being confronted by your past work, the work you made
when it was important to be important is a necessary walk
through the fire of humility. it lives on to confront you--
terrible melodies and earnest signs, the stab at currency
in bad clothing and hair that looks like that--and memory,
too, does a good job of it. in 8th grade, when i thought
to play a trick on some girls: i ran toward them
on the blacktop with my plan. i tripped and fell on my knees
and elbows and palms, and their laughter and the are you
all rights. i refuse to forget. i'm telling you this, sonny,
because you keep smirking whenever i tell you anything.
you'll see. you'll see. i'm telling you, sonny: you'll see.