last night

The moon buoyed in the sky’s black, we poked at it
like twigs, falling short on the ends of our feet

Cold burn in my nose my eyes;
we pulled the neck tighter;
the taste of a spice rack
which was the trees rocking;
sloughing off their sex,
champing the awful smell for us

Somewhere far was Knowing
and it smelled lovely & celibate

There were mushrooms
in patches—we did not eat
but still smiled too much

Around wood burning,
retelling Goosephalus,
your edition was in Braille
and probably for Communists—

Inside the cover you had written:     
     “Angst in your pants” in permanent ink
     and I still don’t know why that’s funny;
The liquid marshmallow of your wit is lost to me

There was that cruel game of cards,
the boars who took the food & dirt we lost

We won’t hear the land under all concrete

A shriveled Paradise
for razing that dollar—

Oh, Metropolis,
je t’aime until the city of lights.

Clutter (ghazal)

Bouquets of Tunisian Jasmine
from the desert to his lady at the Delta.

Lion’s manes from the low savannah,
tied in vines, a verdant lushness.

Rare crystal silt, it comes from the Congo,
New Zealand, Hell, does it matter?

The mansion still feels empty;
a hollow, contrived space.

Birds from Paradise, in Venetian amber
carry the powder scents in the tropics.

She is very lucky to have him;
or else what would she be?

The Tranquil Sea’s faults yield Moonstones,
in Styrofoam, red-eyed to London.

She rubs against red Beijing silk
in bed all day, writhing, trying to forget.

untitled collage

We’re so quiet together it’s almost a bad thing.

This city has spit her out too many times.

We eat in the room cause she won’t go out
I can’t drink in bars.

It’s a lot for her to deal with.

I leave her home most of the day—
Can’t have her tricking Pico Boulevard.

I’ve messed around too, gone off,
she never asks,
I’m so sick of the Daddy spot

She knows, I know she knows, she knows I know,
I don’t give a shit.
Every day we sit around smoking and it’s good.

We rarely speak so I get to thinking,

To function without solid or gas
With body gnarling, mind gnarling,
With either of us.

We trickle,
the years between us are amplified.

She feels best at sundown

& we take walks to the edge of the water
asks me, “why’d we let it get so dirty?”

Sometimes I’m asked if she’s my mother
& they dare take offense when I say yes.