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Spy Poem

     I don’t know how I found you—like
               red dots spread across lines, pages
               before I noticed I
 read them as if I read them—like when turns
       of plot arise
               in shows I watch
 while thinking how I thought them there—

Three Poems

this is the hour
of the small ear
& the sea’s all a case
of minds.  the splotched
ginkgo leaves attest
nothing more than
dogshat sidewalks.

Bazooka, Night Watering, and Admonition for My Children

An aristocratic nature does not like to be constrained
to the fewest syllables. His subjects encompassed
gods and men and horses, all victorious.

Midsummer Zero

There is not not anything true here; there is not no thought
   whose single attention might burn as the day burns, holding
in flame and in fury to longing, or stuck to the nub
   of some one refusal, some stubborn remainder of thought.

My New Asshole

My new asshole’s official candy
is cola-flavored, fish-shaped.