Princeton, NJ, 2014

—I was wrestling with an angel
You were working on a sonnet—

It’s 1997. Paul Muldoon
is crooning on a drunk with Warren Zevon
(luna bass, profondo y bassoon).
They’re contemplating driving north to Levon
Helm’s and shouldn’t do it. Experimenting
with a vintage Danelectro ax,
Muldoon and Zevon fade to black while venting
through poetic corollaries. Lax,
laid back, they ply impromptu rondolet.
It’s getting late and later than they think.
At length they call a cab for Saturday
and throw a little party in the sink.
To Woodstock on a Bodhi-gonzo head!
But Levon’s dead. And Warren’s really dead.