I often tell women’s secrets to men

                 He is in the mountains and in the streams, fields
            Call upon the Lord Ganesha and he
        will appear

Even in the rain the wall
is a molecule of me?

   I have gone on, to still another one, a young

 french girl she is this time, my wife did not bear my child

and I knew it.

Futility is echo
in the giant chasm’s
breath

This sixth circle is not a place to receive
many accolades, peopled with the likes found
in the backgrounds of famous paintings.

The traveling dissection tent is gone.
The stakes are pulled, the mason jars are cracked
and crusted with formaldehyde. The lawn

Shall I come to see
plum blossoms in every stream
and wet my sleeves

I expect the holy of holies must be 
to watch machinery making machinery,
no? Begin with the others and do what they do, 

I was trying to write like an adult. 
I had children. 
I was at the end of something.