Citrus and Vine
eating lemon sorbet
with my little ferret hands
in the velvet of summer.
Thinking about freeways
lollipop trees across the lane
pineapple mezcal stinging
and what eve babitz would say.
so, you showed up.
Ready for apple blossom lipstick.
a chance for heady sight
a freedom in the heat
with sheets made out of kite.
Yet. Cool is not from comfort.
an olive in the brine
Burn your sour on the tongue
and cross the great divide.
—
Malibu
Dad says
change is the constant
Also, of my desires:
Like you’re getting surgery?
heat flashes across freckles
as I take him in
Folding my hands without irony
into the hem, so neat and prim.
Okay. So we will try this again.
Let’s ride across California
or even just the sand.
Maybe the winds are coming
or maybe just me, dear friend.
—
Curbside Pickup
Ripe and uneven flesh
One step down from the curb
One million miles away from the right
sounds of spanish moss
Funny, because we thought it muffled
debt works in mysterious ways
those who have not yet given
will remain unchanged.
Son in the City 