He has not called or written for more than a week.
Henry James died, Master and Virgin, this week.
How does this book, a biography, persist in being
when the biographer gives up his ghost some week?
Why did you hide your profile on—at—Match.com?
I text you only once, to ask, how was your week?
I should have written, stupid fuck, how was your day?
and now it is far too late to revise that week.
Henry James wrote Hendrik Andersen many letters,
his hands all over the young sculptor week after week.
I masturbated every night before I slept.
Meaning: I have been a virgin this whole week.
Last time he wrote on Facebook, Happy Birthday, Jee,
I could give up poetry. If he writes this week . . .