Freakish Deaths Are Rarely Forgotten

The long scarves of memory
wrap around we who have forgotten
what we never knew --
what the century was like
long before we were born;
we talk about the Twenties
as a time of twelve-hour nights,
when bisexuality was not uncommon
in Hollywood, before
American culture coded itself
into a comfortable corner.

We can remember almost anything,
and what’s the difference, really,
between remembering
and being told -- veracity
or deception are in both available.

So a long, delicate, handmade
scarf wrapped around you,
and I can see the beautiful day
and (what kind of car was it)
the Italian car.

And, when everything
got so freakishly twisted,
how the motor hummed, how
the silk spun, how
the pavement hit.
How do we know;
no one remembers anymore.
We’ve only been told.