laconically i open a forward,
expecting Jesus stuff,
or pics of teats,
and arse,
or
how the war
is wrong,
or
right.

my yawn is stifled
by a girl’s sock.
as tears well-up in my eyes:
randy has captured
the universe,
in less words
than Langston.

y, mi amigo de la noche, garth
has a bullet-proof heart,
though as riddled as
the country road Burma signs,.
yet he shields
the yearlings in his fold,
preening their dry feathers
for their long flight
into the future.

10/25/2007

Posted on 10/25/2007
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