We were descending, and sounds rushed
into the now-opened portal to the eardrum:
the shudder of the jet powering back, suddenly.

In the first half-light of the morning the farmer turns toward
                                                       the window
Besides which he sleeps; through which he sees his fields

The seed of their trouble also began in an apple;
That, knowing good and evil, posed for them a choice
                                                     between goods.

Now shut, closed, taken their life deeply back into themselves‚
Looking out from the cliff over the barren oneness of the sea—
Those cabins that have served as the boards of a stage 

Hermes strapped the beautiful sandals onto his feet,
Immortal, made of gold, which bore him across the wet seas
And endless expanses of land as swift as the breath of the wind.

Tell me about a complicated man.
Muse, tell me how he wandered and was lost
when he had wrecked the holy town of Troy,

I want to write like a man, probing
my glitchy mind like it’s the rarest orchid.
But I’m cowed,

Ate stew, shot a man,
Bandy body spraddled, so full of lead 
Cabron can’t even walk uphill. 

The whole country is in a duel and we want no part of it. 
They see us ride, they say
all you men going the wrong direction. 

Garçon, you snore so rhapsodically but hup hup,
peach schnapps & Coke Zero
with a gumball-green mermaid swizzle stick—