1 New Poem

Found Houses

When sun-spires of youth darken
from overspun revelry,  I hope
we endure declines not as single points,
orbital fragments of metal flesh-bone,
but linked, devil-handed pairing
together map-making hazy pastures,
the figures being all so nervy,
stretched and made to pose,
but desire of nothing so much
as collapse.

Collapse to well-traveled arms,
enduring warm of lacquer-washed
skin.

Again, we would awaken not in
dizzy recall of dead drunken evenings,
still blank I searching passage time,
but in contented holding rooms
still, coffee cooling: home.