i.
things you say, when

corner of primavera and invierno

and you, in black and white

and you, all sunglassed up
lintel on crumbling

adobe jagged shore line
and is a facade something for

saying here, look, again
ii.
through this suspended

dinosaur backbone and you know

like albino rainbow

into the ravine some kind of steel
when it suited, let’s not have a scene?

don’t you remember that coffee table didn’t

go over the edge and nothing was broken

when you returned black on black
a hundred spindle splinters, stars
iii.
hypocritical, lying bastard

that i am, and then …?
i would like to lick you rub you

against my cheek, eat off you

and fall asleep next to you forever
iv.
whereas i look for the line, the shape

stick legs and brussels sprout knees

elbows, fall to my
how they carry those barrel

bodies let alone people

to the waterfall

if you can conceive of this
v.
plumed serpent and i was more than one

of my throws away from the river

trickle. the ring went into the bushes

and dirt down there. whereas i wondered
what does green look like to you

who grabbed my hair in your fist

like a clump of grass or a puppy

what is it?
but you were an unlikely guru man

but there is more not your more my more
vi.
or shiny kettle drum

tail swish bridle swoop

and how it picks its footing
like sorting apples or how

it will not run at a life. i never
knew, what you thought

somethin’ stoopid but for sure
vii.
i knew you could be touched by

some of these passing things
i said, holy rooster, with custard stripe

beer fumes and feathers

crack pipe charred, alley rolled

catherine wheel sparking
you were gone but still with me

like alabaster and hazy bay. throws

like this are anticlimactic

gravitational force i mean

they just plop and what an object
i divined from a small piece of crystal
swamp goose, last thing i knew

she went to puebla to get her kids

and she already had two by the river.
i couldn’t understand it. i have

no children.
not every year

but sometimes it rains here

even in december
viii.
bucerías is not just highway hardware stores

and gas stations although that’s where

i waited for you and once we broke down

and you got peanuts there
ix.
i think, something for feeling thumb

joint and finger cradle grazing

palm how like candle, sacrament

blackened rooster hands
i would like to lick you,

rub you against my cheek, eat off you

and fall asleep next to you forever
x.
too big too little too happy too

sad too alive and too dead, starfish

when you sing this is what
you do to us. too soon it’s over

even as warming beers cigarettes

and the dying of our hopes

of someone, gliding in some

seascape with stripes and bubbles
xi.
i do not regret the craziest things

i’ve done or the dumbest, but how it got

after, all that grey
xii.
who knew us once

with tales of regenerating
arms or reminiscing

but you were a wild man
in some kind of preserve

gleaming toothless, pickled
xiii.
slow motion arcing past

guava trees and red roof sand
knocking over driveway posts

spinning wheels and what the hell.
xiv.
ducking your hit and waiting for your beckon.
xv.
or if you would tell me

this green is not god