Power rigs drift like lights out past the breakwater,
                                               white, and fluorescent white.
The sea moving them up and down

June is a migraine above the eyes,
Strict auras and yellow blots,
                                                green screen and tunnel vision,

Friday arrives with all its attendant ecstasies.
Mirrors bloom in the hushed beds.

The ocotillo begins to publish its orange tongues

One after another the angel of history
Women: rural, 9, 1536, 1547, 1550, the angel of history
1551—52, 1559; in business, 147; and the angel of history

Inaudible consonant inaudible vowel
The word continues to fall
                                      in splendor around us

Brooming the streets, sick drunk he hated life.
Winter after winter, his whining wife
Forgave him about midnight, and then she prayed,

I can still hear her.
She hobbles downstairs to the kitchen.
She is swearing at the dishes.

It’s Saturday afternoon at the edge of the world.
White pages lift in the wind and fall.
Dust threads, cut loose from the heart, float up and fall.