The Collected Poems of Ted Berrigan (28 page)

This book seems to have 1,000,000 pages.

No one can think about Fucking

for that long.

I may have to turn back

into

my “well-rounded self”

in order to finish.

My “well-rounded self”

is not always

interesting,

but does manage

to get through.

Now, we ride across the river,

and past auto-parts

made of
NEON
.

I just saw a blue

electric

A

which I thought

at first

was a beautiful evening slipper.

This is a blue train-ride.

I don’t feel blue, but

I can see it.

A man name of

Lloyd Calvin Shippey

is sitting

next to me.

He says, “Who are you

supposed to be

in that hair?”

I say, “Uh, Ted Berrigan.”

He says, “I thought,

Ben Franklin!”

I forget about him, so

he is no longer there.

Nor here.