It sang without a sound: music that
The naive elm trees loved. They were alive.
Oh silky music no elm tree could survive.

I like to be dead.
That’s what the dead say.
I’d rather be dead than so-called alive.

I smile in the mirror at my teeth—
Which are their usual brown.
My smile is wearing a wreath.

The honey, the humming of a million bees,
In the middle of Florence pining for Paris;
The whining trembling the cars and trucks hum

The crocodile is eating the new barman! 
There’s a leg sticking out of its mouth.
Waiter, I’d like another one while I take in this gorgeous sunset.

My God, what a beautiful New York day!
If only getting old would go away!
Wings that used to lift me like a hawk

I’m a stallion standing in my stable stall asleep.  
Horses do that and their standing sleep is deep.
A woman with a whip waits for me to wake

I gather you were in the lobby 
Minutes before. 
Terrifying to almost see you again.   

The leopard attacks the trainer it
Loves, over and over, on every
Page, loves and devours the only one it allows to feed

On the other side of the street, the buildings sit on smoke,
About to lift off—it’s spring!
Cosmonauts and astronauts comfortably in their apartments in armchairs