The fidelity of the day
Runs along the chrome gills
Of her highway,
The glitter of a stream
Disappears in the shade,
When she tells you, you
Do not know her.
When she slips off
For other men, your
Dear brothers,
Going around the bend,
She does not look back
But cascades
In the tangled memories
Of skin and bone laced
With skin and bone
The defeated sun
Kneels beneath the
Horizon’s teeth to
Shatter, and fall
Steaming into the sea,
The gift of the craftsman
Wasted before honed
When the city becomes the
Jungle,
Private detectives working
Overtime
Gunned down without audience
On unseen intersections
Before all the ladies
Opening their doors,
Going out on the walk for the evening,
The skin of their legs flowing
Like running facets
Cooling the parched eyes
Of men, their bodies lighting up
The safety of nightlights
Next to the bedroom,
The doors left open,
Inviting
With All the husbands gone
On very long and expensive trips
With the objects they wish to posses,
Humid and beginning to swim,
Women become the sea-wolves,
The bones of their bodies learn to
Breath through the touch of skins,
Burning through the ancient fires
Of survival
The glass roof above where
The commercial airlines
Fly, comes down
The dryads uncoil their forms
Swim through the muted clouds
Sweating, rings slip from fingers
Fangs, like roots, moisten
In dark corners paid for by the hour,
Friends make love to old lovers
Again,
Back at home,
Locked,
Old lovers stand alone
Hand in hand with a
Gun
Kissing
Where the sun plummets
Through the caves,
Settling amidst the wrecks,
The hopeless hearts,
Forgotten and undisturbed,
Where the greatest man lies
Beneath green green grass,
Nameless,
Not even an allusion of movement
In the graveyard of the deepest
Bay,
Discarded by the pumping jungle
Through which the red hearts love.