After two glasses of wine,
He tells me, the poems get good,
Because the body warms like cuddling,
Like an Indian blanket outside the
...
If she called me a hippie,
My misquoted Tallahassee lassie,
I could have told her that those rubber tramps
Were fine gentlemen compared to me:
...
The best way to do this poem,
Is to ask which exit I must take to go
To where she is,
For the highway is like a flooded river,
...
Alone, like the juvenile plum tree
Crowned by hungry wings,
And the sun crawling through
My limbs like a drunk woman
...
How can I show you beauty,
If you will not first give it to me with your
Tongue,
And allow this fieldtrip of baby fat
...
I started drinking before the plane left
The rainy tarmac,
And after I lost count we were in Spain,
And the hills were busy
...
Put away that sun:
What is she doing now,
Crawling through the cupboards?
Painting her lips after some midnight hour,
...
Another day like this one, like the next.
I read canto IX of the third fitt of Alighieri’s
Paradiso, and it makes little sense,
Little sense like the way I used to sit alone between
...
Ah! Let this night crumble into science,
The magnesium of her experiments put her
Hair in a spell:
In the empty pool she is chasing the rock stars
...
I try my best, girl,
And perhaps have succeeded in the lesser elements,
All those materials known to man
The things we walk on and inhale:
...