Language reaches for a cocktail
dharma like a subway
large as naked London, the
Still in the published bones
secret things stand, explore the
curve of torsos, these psychic Alps.
Tired, I dry the dishes, French
kissing Wednesday, startled as a
what apparition, blue and
pure, spoons sudden twilight into us?
guides the Mirror to reflection?
loathe luxurious latex.
Inside my poem, loneliness is a vault putting on make-up.
Chopping down the
compass, we explore evening like two
a funny balancing called noon.