Folded, closed up, sheltered
beneath a wreath of bright green, in Eden
feeding on happy moths

Nulli se dicit mulier mea nubere malle
    quam mihi, non si se Iuppiter ipse petat.
dicit: sed mulier cupido quod dicit amanti 

 Damon the artisan (none as fine as
he in the Peloponnese) is
fashioning the Retinue of Dionysus

He’s gone from him forever,     and ever since he’s sought
his lips on the lips of every     boy he goes to bed with,
wanting to fool himself         into thinking those are the very

But you, are you Christians?
So be it, you are Christians.
At night one could be.

In the seething almost Indian heat
of an exaggerated July in the city
the remaining inhabitants cautiously

Isn’t it amazing that one evening
sliding the bread into its paper sack
I start all over with the same old speech,

Oh really, she’s with somebody?
So she’s with somebody.
Is she really with somebody?

Surely it’s ridiculous maybe even scandalous
that I feel such overpowering envy
for the eleven-year-old son who’s dozing

There she is turned into a lollipop
a large egg-shaped lollipop,
not passed around, but twirled in the mouth,