I cried out
Whatever you are, man or ghost!”
“Not man, though formerly a man,”
he says, “I hale from Providence,
Rhode Island, a Korean vet.
Once I was a poet, I wrote
of bean spasms,
was anthologised in Fuck You.”
“You’re never Berrigan, that spring
Where all the river of style freezes?”
I ask, awe all over my facials.
“I’m an American
Primitive,” he says,
“I make up each verse as it comes,
By putting things
have to go.”