above,

                      I am cold

           in your clothes

                take care of me,

                                                   someday.

                   nation

         hearts,

             fantasies,

            *  *  *

like a keyring,

       places I need to go

                      destroyed.

       Race,

        cascading fish

Walking out

the shadows

like sleeping

are matter-of-fact

realities.

           are

           water

           hot day,

           or dammed

           on the

           some

           I, old tree

                my

                which

                surround

                from that

                in the dark.

                I have learned

                Southern accents,

                sounds from the

                shadows.

                The missing

                The King

as much as I originally missed you

of my invention

                                   I will still meet the King

Oh, and you would never

                   so

engagingly,

so that I could

or

his ever being

there on the other side

watching me

until my face

were like dreams

                leave a line of breath on

                              to the window

                         to the wind

          your cynical smile

          aching all over

          losing your balance

                    of the room

             to dinner,

               silver

              lost

               sardine; I have

                      given up sleep

                         that's in transit -

                     that's for keeps

           and smelt and wiggling sardine

           met Michael

         a surprise,

               a silver snake in your bed

            if you did like snakes;

          a mustache

                of shoulders, as woman

                steady tip

                    and suspended

                                           water

                            time or space

                               it supported

                                               fans

                                   when the body is read

                         window turns white

                          feeling as frightened and foolish, tho

                                                                         as some

                                      fucking     Spain

                                         He was a prince

                                               cool brook

                                               the length

                                                    of Spain.

                                               so that I smell

                                   and feel ass

                      up

                         side of

                  mountain range

                                    room

                              name was Moon,

                         Finishes Far Behind

               I owe him everything,

          even the memory of

             their silver bones like keys

                                              The King

                                              My Motor

                                              The Wood

                                              The Astro

                                               A Poet

                                               A Truck

                                               A Mountain

                                         terra cotta saucers catch

                                         the water

                                                      that seeped down

                                        captured earth

                                 And yet I still believe

                                                   She formed bowls

                                                    in her hands

                                                    as soft and vibrating as

                                                    a bullfrog

                                  The King

                         could be destroyed

                                     you could leave                                           

                                  love being weak and

                                knowing

                                           the King

                          would be cowardly

                          would make you

                               invisible

                           Now it is morning

                            You shut your

                                         you open the wind

                                             SPAIN

                                             already the body grows

                                                                   is patient

                                             the mind is too busy

                                                                      to escape

I begin to lose touch

          you are beginning

          another

          inside the head

Spain,

      taken away

             the question

           again,

                     ironically

                        actually I have often pretended some man

                                      was you

              Sometimes I try to

                                       reveal it, SPAIN

                                                   privately

                                       against

                           a good poet I know

                              I

                              who

                              will not ever be

                               The scar

                               which was

                                      light

                                      small Persian

                                you will not exist

                                when you wake

                            to the world I come back to, to

                            the darkness of many worlds

                            my own semen

                        my head is under a rock

              I want to go deeper

              I cling to the rock

                    as to

              The rock

              I come

              the

                   same

                         the left breast

                             the heart

           him