The New World and Finding It

‘What is necessary for the journey?’ you asked me. I was sitting behind you in the van. We were going everywhere.

1

You must read opening paragraphs only.
You must crack walnuts at the kitchen table.
Remember to carry a toothbrush. And a knife.

Listen. Throw away all current maps and read the palm of your
lover’s left hand. A dry palm is a sign of past grief. Or future
grief. Make your choice with care and precision. Breathe deeply.

Avoid doughnuts. Doughnuts sprinkle your lap with sugar.
Avoid, for the first day of travel, all right turns. Travel light.
Wear one of the five new sweaters you bought for the trip.

How does one prepare for disorder? (Do not repeat the question.)
Listen at night for howling dogs. Watch for traces of blood
in your urine. If sailing, steer towards the setting sun.

How is it we cannot find the New World? (You asked, not I.)
Names, if heated or frozen, evaporate. Pronouns (and adjectives too,
for that matter) are a deceptive lot. You should, if not in doubt,
   turn back.

The gesture exceeds the meaning. The tongue, tasting
the nipple’s first odour, hears only its own command. We touch
upon the subject, gingerly at first, then watch, astonished.

You must carry everything you need. For starters,
consider Atlas. Memorise your chiropractor’s phone numbers,
office and home. And take along a nightshirt. White.

Remark the tip of the raised nipple: compass or invitation,
or possibly both. Consider the consequences
of a first kiss. Deny the existence of alternatives.

Do not conceal money in your shoes. Avoid birds whose wings
are not in working order. Bathe as often as seems appropriate.
Try frequently to recall the exact colour of a mirabelle plum.

Count on an abacus only. When looking for the rumoured place,
insist on diagrams and charts. Words are dissolved perceptions.
Claim, even if incorrectly, to know approximately where the horizon is.

Wet an index finger and raise it to the wind. Like the guy said,
mirabile dictu. Would you fucking believe, ma’am, asteroids
are frequent visitors to this planet Earth. Wham bam, thank you.

Take with you a clay pot, preferably one that is already cracked.
Learn to build a fire with your knife, a flint, and a small heap of
desiccated bones. Always boil your drinking water.

The New World is over there. It is always over there. You cannot avoid
finding it. Nor can it be found. The New World has, as you might not
have noticed, strings attached. Paint your thighs the colour of blood,
using blood if necessary. The New World is the colour of blood.

2

There is always the blunder. The blunder allows us into
the world, the door opened on the lovers in bed, the bomb
dropped on the president’s palace, the accidental cyanide

in the deliberate soup. And what is the poem but its own blundering?
Take, for instance, our friend Columbus, exiled in paradise,
carrying with him cannons and bacteria. Look, he said. The Indies.

The violation begins with the naming. We say the tree is a tree.
It resists its diminishment by coming into blossom. The stone blossoms
in the garden. The garden is the violent undoing of the name.

Take with you, on a journey, since you feel you must, seeds. Sterile
seeds, preferably. Let the garden grow you, not you the garden.
Always, before setting out, plant your foreknowledge in the sand.

Proceed knowing nothing. Even the sea is not always green.
Or is it blue? One so easily forgets. What is the colour of your 
    bathroom walls?
And while we’re asking: How does Atlas hold up the sky?

Carry wine, of course. But only what you and your lover will drink.
And did you remember an opener? Where is the bread? What bread?
Proceed as planned. Raw oysters, one hopes, are truly an aphrodisiac.

The New World is its own alibi. It was never there. What we found
in the bathtub was a suspect configuration of pubic hairs. Someone
has been here before us. Call the police at once. What police?

Patience. Consider patience. Patience makes perfect. Or is it
practice that does that? The categories are not clearly defined.
Observe and note: the northern end of each flyway is crammed 
   with eggs.

What one needs for the journey is the journey. That’s a hard nut
(egg?) to crack. And speaking of eggs: tread carefully when walking.
A bird in hand and all that. And speaking of bush: I want you

right now. We are driving, and the road promises a stopping place
the way the barker at a sideshow promises naked and hairless
sheep and bearded ladies and upright, noble men. A savage bunch.

Pickpockets, we are. Preachers. Whores, Politicians. And that’s
the easy part. Try fondling two plums in public. Or a single peach.
Try telling someone you have discovered that you are in love.

Try crossing the street with your eyes shut to get to what
you read in the morning newspaper is absolutely
A New World.