h. & earth


she lives on Sundays & nectarines

I'm

an end to her means

somewhere in tangled ivy

light breaks o' the balcony

climbing through

this Paris morning

& a volume of Keats


have you seen


her shampooed hair

a flag

down to there

beyond                       that blue-bird tattoo


Hieroglyphics

flashing

at intervals





—I might be a dumb old world

but I may just shake you off

like a collie

coming out of a pond


you're so proud of the deals you've struck

with your devils & your technology

I'd like to have you meet my good friend

who goes by the name of gravity


so we will see, won't we?


when all the buildings and bullshit

are tossed into space

only trees & flowers

will stick like glue

as for the rest of you

take a deep breath, hold it in

you might make it to the moon


in all your years here

how many times I drew

clouds

of hope                        in hieroglyphics   But

you didn't look up


so   —enjoy the silence...







how were we Ever

the way we were?     so

caught up


I remember


it stayed with me today &

robbed me of last night

my arms around that

impossible love


you're still full length in the dressing room mirror

those images you left in there


& how I'm not able to

walk outside or go anywhere

we

pulled so close together

i felt you breathe through your skin

so close


i can't reach   that


again

your motion

                  your time                        & some vista


but that was


fearless with

crazy energy &


you & me

younme

we

you and me

you                 and                                       me


how we knew and went ahead

how we knew and you

went ahead...


I've been ghostwriting today, looking over my shoulder

running to catch up

and twisting free

you'd  be

sleeping shotgun

for a thousand miles


Now there's medicine-man bones and madame x

Monday to Friday and all that mess


but you're

some yesterday morning

the

thief of Baghdad

in cotton pants


—for all the diamonds

Gold! and broken glass

spread across Queen Anne's bed

there is

an engraving on a single

rusted bracelet


cut from my heart                   


i can still feel it

the way cat spirits hover, afraid of the

silver crucifix on your black dress  or—

the finely draped sanctuary of your last address