Bad Lettuce      When time is insignificant when time is full in my hands overflowing I dial the old phone numbers and listen to the faded stale voices which no longer receive me as they once did: sounding now not at all like fresh crisp lettuce     No Lovely Voices   Today I wanted to be a director of films to record some spontaneous overflow of feeling on film.   Two friends of mind have girlfriends and the girlfriends stopped by yesterday to see me. I spoke operatically, in monotone, like an opera with no lovely voices.   From my rocking chair, arms outstretched like a Village Greek, I spoke of fleeting hopes, midnights along.  I spoke in vague, business-style language.   Hoping they would understand me, I chose to write a poem, to develop the event.