How It’s Made
To be conscious is not to be for the benefit of one, but
for the benefit of another: a reflection of the way in which I
grace this Earth, Our Earth–bequest not for what I am,
but for what will be–and you said it best–here
I will wash my hands and the water will flow into the oceans for
my children and yours, the salt on your
lips could have been the sweat of our people.
Golden Shovel of “Say Thank You Say I’m Sorry”
Second(s) Lov(ing H)er
I waited all night by the phone–a glooming messenger of our
plead for intimacy. I had left the party early, grazing shirts
that, unlike yours, I wished to remain on. Unbuttoned
pants (my own doing) were refolded as a clock under
a poster of Klimt’s lying lovers stole precious seconds of faith. Our
nerves betrayed burning desires as the winter
cold rushed young bodies to take up their coats.
Golden Shovel of “French Novel”
