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Bike Porn Round II

Remember this this?

Remember this:

Can't Put it Down

This is so, so beautiful.  She made it in southwest Portugal.  Crickets and the microwave, too.

"ABSOLUTELY"

there and back

Prayer Yen

Only
when the wind rattles the tree
do seeds fall
hair tumbles, shoulders;
leaves, the road--
roll, catch, and they break like
glass underfoot.  It is fall.  I say to myself
that it is okay to wait
for what to do with the rest of today
indoors, watch bread in the oven womb
swelling and sunflower seeds pop
from the crust
I only wanted to see
if I could do it,
face it.

The streets are fairly tales only when
roving their nipping air; I
see their too many breaths
sticking against the windows that I
peer into--
their afternoons and the hot water
for tea or coffee with
animal frequency, shriveled
orange peels curling
into themselves like
frightened worms and
"the cake has been served
and did you like it?"
Trying to fit in but the key
in the door always in the door a
sore tooth turning and turning and
from in there the rain runs itself
sideways into the mouth of an
earth one would never see.
The leaves might as well be licked
down for good.

In Navajo mythology,
rain is the sun's sperm.
These days, there's no dance
for birth, regeneration, death,
until there's true fear under our feet--
the snake in the dream bites
two eagles making love in free fall
don't make it
maybe
our wind couldn't
catch them.

They used to look at the sky
and see Gods.

What do we see?

What it Takes to Build a Car

he doesn't eat breakfast and
he is losing his hair,
he bets on soccer matches during the breaks and
he became terrified of having children and death at age twelve,
he wears a t-shirt that reads "blaze kush" and
he has 14 siblings,
he wants to become chief and
he likes his beer cold,
he wakes up at 3:30 every morning to get here on time and
he laughs deep from within his big belly,
he spent four years in prison for brutalizing a police officer and
he promises her that she is the girl of his dreams on the phone,
he still lives at his parents place and
he stopped drinking but not smoking,
he walks with a bit of a limp and
he has a tongue piercing,
he lowers his head and does the work all while he is learning
to fit in.

September

they have been

naming this

season after

the man i see

picking the apples

at the crown of my

family tree; naming

it with the

quivering hand

of those who have

spent whole

afternoons of their

childhood staring

into the sun,

and now see

a small black hole

boring into

everything they

hold in their

sight (those who know

there is no going

back).  that man bites

into the crisp

apples of this my

tree and crunches

them deliberately like

rocks--- they were

made for him and him

only.  That man

wears slacks with a

tear along the

left leg from a dog

that caught him

stealing apples from

another tree.

the waters are churning. 

the waters are coiling as if

someone had just

left them so
how to enter them?  
and

because they didnt ask for
names when we

applied for this

world, how to

go about introducing oneself

to the lights falling

and fading all around,

those burning

out to a certain

stillness i see

in the black dots on

the eyes of those leaving

the water right

in front of me