Sum

Discovering myself here

alone at the Silver Apple,

a modest restaurant,

I wish to take the time,

December 3, 1979,

the first cold night of winter,

to announce to myself I exist, to define

briefly my position vis-à-vis the cosmos,

a position too modest to term modest,

to determine my location on earth-

perhaps two square feet of space

for my shoes and this bentwood and wicker chair-

to hear my mind's voice address me

at its undefined pitch, in its hollow timbre,

a sound heard only by me,

often chastising me for some relapse or other;

I record this interior voice

on a small sheet of white paper,

set down its dictation in order

to recall this evening at another date and to recall

that I once found myself here

at the Silver Apple, wishing to

note to myself that I exist

as best I can, employing my most painstaking

handwriting for the task. It appears

this taking note is as much

as my particular powers of mind

allow me to do.