Dave AWL
To Larry Rivers, on Hearing of His Death
As you ascend that staircase of clouds,you hear someone cry out, "There he is,
covered with blood and semen!"
Laughter. It is Frank, of course,
and Kenneth is with him,
having preceded you up the stairs
by mere weeks. Who knew heaven
could be so like New York in the fifties?
Who knew God would take such good care
of bohemian riffraff, bisexual saxophone
painters, gay rococo poets, and their salon?
Frank did. You hear him say he told you so.
Bunny Lang hands you a drink
while Kenneth shakes his head. He is wearing
his Larry Rivers shirt, his Larry Rivers shoes,
his Larry Rivers beekeeper outfit,
while the nouns cluster behind him,
fascinated, wide-eyed. Everywhere are violets,
rhinoceroses. Frank has disappeared
behind a curtain. You excuse yourself and join him.