the third year they had known
tried to listen over
warplanes wild cats & windmills
if only one or the other had a third eye
Why do I with coffee carve out hunger and the edge
in the morning nearly dire as a man on a ledge?
Because in the dark the peeling eucalyptus trees.
Because you are subtle as a ballot box
perfumed with the oil of cottonseeds
magical with possibilities, odd as a fox
or a girl organizing seven keys.
In Spain some say: the streets are not yet paved.
If I were not walking here and standing
and standing and looking so early this morning,
I could occupy a chair of metaphysics
I know you’re out there, lost in your pillows
of ash and grief, to rise only to mourn
yesterday, today, and all tomorrows,
wrapped alone in strange strangling sheets, worn
as little shrouds after the little death
of another sunset celebration.
Each night a worship of pink delights, breath
held captive in our private elation
am neatly obsessed with warm concrete
am neatly obsessed with my favorite water brand
am neatly obsessed with tercets & triplet hearts
am neatly obsessed with names that a hold a home
am neatly obsessed with streets that overflow in obscurity
am neatly obsessed with trails that go on for miles
am neatly obsessed with packages that read like blankets
I whisk myself away, and
appetite follows. My stomach growls
when it’s horny–I mean hungry.
One of my favorite albums is
Sex and Food by Unknown Mortal Orchestra.