When I was young, I used to
Watch behind the curtains
As men walked up and down the stre
Young men sharp as mustard.
See them. Men are always

Her arms semaphore fat triangles,
Pudgy hands bunched on layered hip
Where bones idle under years of fa
And lima beans.
Her jowls shiver in accusation

One innocent spring
your voice meant to me
less than tires turning
on a distant street.
Your name, perhaps spoken,

Tears
The crystal rags
Viscous tatters
Of a worn-through soul
Moans

Your smile, delicate
rumor of peace.
Deafening revolutions nestle in th
cleavage of
your breasts

Pretty women wonder where my secre
I’m not cute or built to suit a fa
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since depart
Mark the mastodon.
The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here

We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of lonelines
until love leaves its high holy te
and comes into our sight

Soft grey ghosts crawl up my sleev
to peer into my eyes
while I within deny their threats
and answer them with lies.
Mushlike memories perform

He bad
O he bad
He make a honky
poot. Make it honky’s
blue eyes squint