Do not let the bow scare you;

         it is for drawing back—

I make this line
my beast
of claw of tooth

There was a contest
once
for the best picture
of a peach

shit flows downhill he who loves power
gets to be king he who loves love
gets to be priest kings and priests

Calmly clouded Tuesday.
The chateau is closed.
Nothing glitters.

Destination, in the land of never enough,
   is the cornice of all I can give / all that I know,
         given over to deep blue sky.

And I say my poems are getting too loose
flopping like clothes on a line
bright colored Bodies

My father lies at the end of my white coat,
witnessing his own angiography. He jokes,

a buried child
comes unearthed

a zero sum
a gaping hole

there all along
one step ahead

and fallen into
midsentence

he imagined her naked
in his big bed at night

Company

I've lost my stately others and now there is me with neck
Erect and solemn, tightened face. Sometimes I feel they are
Peering out from behind white curtains, clutching with long