It’ll never be built, that house,
what do you say.

Those only who were bored as Ulysses
Ever came home. The remnant soldiering on
Dwelt on the pet names round their hated seas,

Its blue cathedral is trembling into the marrow
of my mouth. Its sharp houses split open

When I was born, I woke in the bedrooms
of admirals. Now I want a sky so blue
it is arrows. I want to sleep under the jawline

He is strewn around her on the bedroom floor
in yards of sequined silk and padded bras.

     Jimmy was a cowboy
       too small to live;

Fats Domino’s parents each
wear a gold ring—each,
the woman, the man. A slice of hard moon

Rooting in brittle mortar—
gypsum plaster, sand, and water—
bougainvillea grew around the arches,

To our ruined vineyards come,
Little foxes, for your share
Of our blighted grapes, the tomb
Readied for our common lair
Ants, we open you the cupboard;
Flee no more the heavy hand
Harmless as a vacant scabbard
Since our homes like yours are sand.

In a dream of sex & blindness,
boats grow rare on a river.

In a meteor shower which I feel but can’t see