They have affairs. They rarely stop to think
until they're begging for a second chance.
We love and learn we sometimes need a drink.

Is there a secret map of the lives of men
In the slow drift of stars and clouds of stars?
Can I build a house out of hydrogen

a tall one, but she sang Delilah well;
she could stand up to the Philistines or Placido like anything.

for a man who writes about
loneliness so much
his poems are full of people.

Musings. Where do they seep to, down there on the floor?

Under the lavender foam of cirrus, swallows
Looped; beyond trees, the pavement whined.

O little men who mock his macho enterprise!

The women were the room and the room was full,
not of women but of cadences and bedclothes, cadences
     irregular

they said a painting demonstrates failure to see
the portion of a woman not created with brush strokes,

A mirror pressed against a mirror makes
a locked infinity, a bliss ruined by entering,