He wanted no money,
had nothing to sell,
didn’t boast or brag or bitch

I am what I deserve, blinkered, public,
Get-atable, indecorate, with finch-like tints,
Neither black nor white but always gray,

The doctor had said he could fix everything
Except the eyes.

Wish you were heir / To more naturalness / Than simple lust

Can you be busted for fucking / The enemy? The radio is curiously / Still in the tropical night

 Spring again. Wet April calls the blue
from the sky, would give me names
for all the green things writhing from the earth’s

When the last girl came
to the pile of leaves, she chose
a green one for her mother, brown

Perambulations in the dawn 
Through long cold silent empty streets 
Bring him to the frozen playground 

To feel you knock
your radishy
fist against the wall

That’s a hot dog with fried onions 
(the kind that come in a can) and stripes 
of brown mustard and mayo. We each