When the day
has gone
and the sky sings
its curtain song
I'll have a rose,
so you know
not to hurry in august
a bouqet
luckily bought

Dipped in ink
to turn black roses pink;
blue collars white
day into night
morning rows like a steam ship freight
falling in love
climbing up hate

"I hate the birds,
they sing much too loud,"
the male bird letters
his calls to tell how
a swan can stay strung
with its same lover
and not look at another--
never notice another
"The sun-- my eyes,
blinds even the blinds"
High tide,
in seaside
the motel's dirty
just how I feel
clean and serene
lacking appeal
"Smell the salt,"
smell the street
cleaning lady
stomping her feet
"Miss,"
or hit, or shoot the shit
breath on the back of my neck
kissing your knees,
loving your sheets
anything that covers you
is sacrilege
but anything that touches you
must be magic.