November Arc, Barcelona 2003

she wear th fat belt
she meet my eyelid
she draw her butt cheek line
so dark & close to my own dead & gone edge


she hold th crowd back
she keep a friend cool
she trigger-happy looker
wearing my own stolen heart of gold
--on cuff-linked sleeves, dear--


surrender, dear eye-- do remember, my eye--
think again, sink again, try again, memory!


she sit on blow clean slate
she squeeze my mem'ry gland
she march all night on lace-white friends
all grown so old before our time!


she foreign spectate-- or
correspond to speculate address!
(in my mind's eye only--
argue come to blows again?)