a line or two

---

most dickish when you don't know it

sometimes

---

---

song like a faroff thing

---

There's a love song

like a tower

in the distance

on the road

lyrics murky

tune keeps rising

under the beat

of your steps

but you can't see it all

until you run

your first real one

to sing

the song is rising

and it's closer

as you walk there

knowing, now

it's yours

to give

and on that hill

you're looking down

and you can see it's

meant for you

you understand it

in the distance

looking back

it's oddly small now

little tower

slightly stupid

in the way it leans

there's a love song

by your shoulder

if you bother

looking over

but it

tends to hurt

your eyes

the way it gleams

---

---

--

Observations

--

The trash bags

The many electric lights

and sockets

The stairs

or the window above them

a bottle of cleaner

a scissors

pens

glass shelving panes

the little brown ibuprofen

that rattle in a large bottle

like rain

the passing cars

and trolley

if you should look for me
Try visiting the little house we built
of sex and photographs
Before we learned to build with stone
And lost one another in the long
Meandering halls

I may be
Toiling in the garden
pausing on occasion to lean
Sweating on the shovel handle
And count the clouds reflected
In the window where
Our Bedroom
never so much as
became.

Reading Ferlinghetti at cantina los caballitos

Reading ferlinghetti by candlelight
Diffused through a bad old fashioned
In the wrong glass
And I can't find the poem
I'm looking for
He's mad
And talks
                With eager energy
Of the world washing away
And the noise of the bar room
Mimics his universal roar
And outside
Starts to rain

II

An afterword:
Turns out - misheard my order.
"old fashioned" became "manhattan"
as in the poem the island becomes
Again
Manahattan
And indians
Take to their canoes

When we loved

I remember in particular your orgasm,
that one I found when I lived with my head in that pretty house between your legs,
with the magnificent long view over the one point perspective up your thighs, so near where your hips were raised up high pointed peaked like waves at the edge of your belly, receding to the distance of  your hand on breast, not clutching but confirming, and the soft of your face, as I relive it, shining large and crisply out of reach as moonset, and the sound of you especially I recall, oh try to recall, can never enough recall: cascading "ohs" not screamed but declared "oh, oh," with plaintive surprise. 
And the moment remembered again, from above, from orbit with you as the whole curving earth,
and the same, again, unfinite, rosary moments, "oh", from beside you: face galaxy large against my own, body twinning mine, two stars. and looping mantra moment, "oh", a mudra of that memory, "oh" bead by bead of "oh" so that it was all times, in all beds, all hours, our years of extending my hand toward your rising setting face as "oh" the pull away and twitch and still, still, even now, there was nothing before it, or after, but my small fingers reaching out to catch the moon.

at the diner

At the diner -

she clutches her spoon like a weapon and her mug like a shield

break the skin of my coffee with a sugar cube  - the crystals soften, darken kiss farewell my fingers

I hear a hundred ‘how is everythings’

Water glassed filled after every sip - if these waiters stood above the sahara it would blossom

someone in the corner is reading a novel over her eggs

and she is the fifth person today to remind me of the same old friend.

I remember a sunny field of grass where as a child I stepped on a wasp

perhaps the sun shone then as now, or perhaps there was then the same cloying smell of white flowers as the trees stickied the spring air

last munch of eggs

outside these doors the world will gnaw my underbelly

I will stay a little longer with my scraps of toast.

Wicked witch

Off camera Margaret exposed her body, green and beautiful, and smiled toothy mischief.

Less coy than certain she extended

Cool under the backstage light