Oh snows of only two months ago!
when will you fall back up into the sky
and fall down again like an airplane?

I never seem to hear much, except Tschaikovsky.
What’s the matter with me, especially on Saturday
afternoon? it seems that there’s a park nearby

You may flaunt my looseness, you know
that I go whole weeks without, so, I
get depressed because I’m so easily distracted

I’m getting tired of not wearing underwear
and then again I like it
                                           strolling along

It really is amusing
that for all the centuries of mankind
the problem has been how

We join the animals
not when we fuck 
             or shit

I sit in your T shirt
with its spots of paint
as a certain fierceness pours

A whispering far away

heard by the poet in a bower
of flesh his limbs stir

Oh night, to hear them once again
as if we were at Kyriena’s and the moon
over the Hudson were blue no movie

Picasso made me tough and quick, and the world;
just as in a minute plane trees are knocked down
outside my window by a crew of creators.