He fears the tiger standing in the way.
The tiger takes its time, it smiles and growls.
Like moons, the two blank eyes tug at his bowels.

Unknown faces in the street
and winter coming on. I
stand in the last moments of

The light sifts down from the naked bulb
he’s quickened with a string. He speaks
to no one out of the well of his anger.

It’s been suggested by the New Radicals
in America that perhaps the best, no,
the penultimate act would be, of all things,

It’s morning; you are six 
Impatient to be off 
In the clear cold light 

Fingering the tourmaline amulet
strung around her neck, she hopes to channel
a “plasma”—ethereal and healing—
that might resuscitate her blood. Doctors,

You knew how things open,
a flower, a jail, an eye
and at the very last, a hand.

’Tis I Master, Francesco, come
to awaken you for noon refreshment.
See how he sleeps; as easily

The Lord wants me to go to Florida.
I shall cross the border with the mercury thieves,
as foretold in the faxes and prophecies,

When I feel the old thirst coming on
I think of my great-great-aunts,
the farmer’s disappointments, adorning