I wonder
what you do in those retreats,
those wanderings into the woods.
What do you accomplish?
What do you fulfill?
Do you hunger perhaps, for the taste of
luxury and collapse?

And I can see you,
bow and arrow on your shoulders,
waiting for the deer.
And what is it that you do, coming back
sweaty and nervous, giddy and wanting,
lusting.
Long-haired, skinny man, dark eyes
and pale-skinned-
you come home    wet.
And I wonder if I can still love you
after all the women
who have followed your steps,
eaten from your mouth, kissed it,
loved you.

You come back hot, red veins
like demons in your eyes. Dark shadows
thirst for what you’ve already
tasted.
Are you some-type of prophet?
Do you think yourself a God, a prince?
Surely no God eats with his fingers.

But do tell me instead that I am a queen,
yours to take and ravish and hold.

And fall from your mountain,
and come down to earth.
For prophets love all women,
and I desire you
for only myself.

In the front seat of your car
When I was younger, and sadder,
You and I used to take long walks and
Take photographs of people here in the City.
Sometimes, we would sit at cafes and exchange
Poems, stories. We were going to be artists, and live the
Good life. But then
I think I fell in love     with the thinness of your frame
And more possibly     your stories and the freeness of your spirit.
And I think       you did not feel the same about me.
Now,      I watch you still and wonder about
the nature
Of your thoughts.  Do you see me grown?
Now you,      an accountant
And me?       Just here.

This hooded man mutters in your ear,
speaks of minotaurs and heroes. You
said we had found Winesburg long ago.
We know he works at Costco, but now
we know his name is David, this hooded
man. He wore a straw hat from Thailand
days ago, thought perhaps he was
eccentric and out-of-the box.
He is,  I think.
It scares me dear, that he heard our small
talk, all those words that slipped
from our lips
into his ears…

Does he know us more than those who think
they know us?

What may I be?
The first crazy woman in time.
The one he ***** and impregnated. I
gave birth to Adam,
maybe. The beginning
of the world began
with me.
Who may I be?
The first woman he loved. And
did I keep coming back, only
in different bodies and times?
So many children we
lost count.
And can it be,
after so many years of
crying babes and ****** wars,
of greedy boys and jealous daughters,
we found each other once again?

Me, the first woman?
And you, the first man?

YOU are the smell of
earth after
rain
but they tell me i
smell of weakness all
over why is it that
i cannot recognize
myself anymore and i
wish i were floating above
and could send you
my words and touches
with the wind but you cannot
see my face or my body
and what happens with the past
and i’m not making sense
because like every good story
teller i don’t tell you
all at first.
You are the smell
of earth after water
pours out from the sky
to the trees, down from the clouds
and when
the water touches my rough
skin everything is broken,
like still moments, watching
sleeping mermaids and speckled
mermen.

Green-eyed machine,
no legs and just waiting for
a pair of hands to push him through.
Man with whimpering throat sounds,
stumbling words and inaudible messages.
I can’t understand you. Glenn, wheelchair man
in his thirties with green eyes and a twisted mouth.
He wants to see Springsteen in theaters, but the movie
hasn’t come out yet. He gets angry and
asks to see the manager. Glenn. Glenn
sells chocolates at the station and
crawls with three hundred bucks in
his pocket everywhere he goes.
I think I’d kiss him
if I were older, and if I weren't so
embarrassed to be near him

At the   gay bar    everyone tipsy   jell-o shots
We   watched   the drag queens    perform   and then
We watched    the male dancers   all beautiful    sculpted
They all    knew  how to tease     and we met
Sergio      and this kid from    Venezuela    we asked him
First     are you Russian?     And then this kid from North Carolina,
Seemed    deep    but the more we spoke to him    the more
Empty he appeared    and I felt sad     staring into his
Big blue eyes      grazed his strong thigh    he was a sweet boy
His left  ear was pierced      and before you know it    i’m  running
Back stage,    the drag queens   saying   honey, you can’t come in here
And I’m crying my eyes out       saying i need to find Sergio from North
Carolina     and    they can’t seem to find him   well, because
He wasn’t Sergio     from  NC     everyone we met that night
Seemed to   have merged     only afterwards,      did I begin
To remember      individual      stories.