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A MAN TILTS BACKWARDS
A man tilts backwards,
more from sleepiness
than lust his eyes becalmed,
his hands that hold a book
starting to uncurl.
The hired hand
who wields a comb
is free to jam it down,
another equally
to cram a foot
into a shoe.
He is their president.
He reads & sleeps
at once.
The only paradise he knows
consists of thieves
& madmen.
Money is the key
for him for others
only time will tell.
He finds it difficult
to dream, to read
between the lines,
evade the sound
the blade makes,
feel the pressure of
a shoe against
his foot, the evening
slowly creeping in,
the flow of words
more than the eye can take,
ready for sleep.
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MEN LAUGH AT MEN
Men laugh at men
& money
while craving what
the other hides,
a bag of cash
or rocks,
the trash of too much life,
too many years,
the voices of the old men
crying shit
like children,
old women counting beads,
it makes no difference
if the young girl
stroking her wet leg
bothers to listen,
there are others here
who pray for her,
the mothers in their thoughts
gone up to heaven,
crones & codgers,
waiting for their lives to end,
susceptible to surgeons,
shadowed by cops
into the little rooms,
flesh mongers
ready for the coup de grace,
the steamy offers
men’s eyes make
on entering,
a pocketful of dollars
buys them love,
delayed transgressions,
dirty days,
& little worth.
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NO GREATER HAPPINESS
Someone of little worth
he jams a hand
into the other’s mouth,
pulls at his earlocks,
while a third one
vomits dark matter,
& a fourth,
a distant cousin
maybe curls up
on a mattress
half asleep.
He is the king of craws,
the prince of palates.
From the way his fingers
move an image rises,
a row of bottles
brilliant in the light
shot from his eyes.
The sleepers know no greater
happiness than what
the woman with her head
bent to the ground
affords them,
crouched like monks
or toweled bathers.
Back & forth
caprichos chase caprichos,
sex & fear
what drives them,
grabs them by the scruff,
their monkey faces
open, blind,
their noses plugged
with sand,
spew drops of bile
like poison.
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A DONKEY & A MONKEY
Disciples of a donkey,
do they come
to learn attitudes
& platitudes
stamped on their reptile
minds? That parrot,
this carrot
(Tatehata
A.)
are other signs for sure.
A donkey & a monkey
facing off caprichos
that the monkey plunks
on la guitarra,
soundlessly,
the donkey following
in wonder,
strangers clapping hands
& crying hey,
olé.
A donkey like a monkey
reads a book,
a monkey like a donkey
listens,
He sees a pair of
donkey faces,
lines of A’s across
a chalkboard,
easy aces,
donkey silhouettes
in grey,
a spunky donkey
in a coat, his muzzle
pressed against
the dead man’s chest
the best he has
to show hello,
caprichos!
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