Los vacios.
Los ocupantes desconocido.
Los amantes, busco y no encuentro.
El desierto de mi corazón y del miedo que la rodea.
El sol desapareciendo detrás de la muerte.
El beso de la luna en el anillo de mi asaltante.
¿Por qué el hombre quapo esta tan lejos?
¿Por qué esta avenida que corre siempre al infinito?
Ruego que me parece.
Santuario por el callejón próximo.
Que dios joven.
O.

I'm sorry June 8th.

His name is not important

since he died, though

People say they feel

they’ve met him for the first time.

Who knows?

Loneliness rides a blue horse

and carries a long rope.

There's leeway in his lasso.

There a lassitude in his straddle,

the way he leans in the saddle,

like a naughty boy without a paddle,

like a babby without a rattle,

like a tale without a tattle,

or a general without a battle.

Stayed up late sliding text

across margines.

It's how you frame

the statement that gives

pause.

Still as a fact,

the piano waits.

Tomorrow comes

another proof.

This will be the seventh, and charm.

Matthew was going bald

until all the other farmers got together

and had an old-fashioned

hair-raising.

Now he can't keep

enough combs.

The only road not closed

was the scenic route --

but at night there's nothing to see,

and less to say.

Up early and at it.

Made a list for the day.

Recovery is just a part of it.

Falling in love

is over the edge.

Muse me more.

“The will to war, in effect the desire
to be part of any military establishment
or police state institution is a flaw
inexplicable in human natures.”

He states opinion.

Light Dusting

No spouse found.
Ice recovers the pond.
Axes cleaved the fog.
Blood splattered the ground.

Deadlines drawn in dirt
highlighted by white flakes.
Pinch yourself if you still
feel you are real real.

§

you get mean
and
I’ll get nasty

snarl a spit
in
the face

rub your hands
between
your legs

you make more
than we can feel

alone the song’s gone
as good as ever
the hope we had for summer.

alone this cold weather
the way we gave each other
remember Me inscribo.

alone this mention to myself
you were a good lover.

§

“hey, you.”
some even said
“usted,”
which was
different
but sounded
right
once he’d
gotten
used to it.