Wednesday, January 21, 2009

while listening to Olsen

I thought when dripping
hands I might clank
or move to another country
to make love to your wife
while behind a stack of
books -- she stacking upon
her lips, the bottle
the sauna,

a day like in space now
making a daughter with
me and to think, all
after we find a new

We walk the wharf to
remember the scent and
places of must, of an eastward
harbor where once I became
so brisk and buried beneath
your writing and
dreams of the bay

Today is lumped into
an eye-shape I will
change my name to
Donald or at least
something that has
humps and rhymes
with many things