Friday arrives with all its attendant ecstasies.
Mirrors bloom in the hushed beds.

The ocotillo begins to publish its orange tongues

Salt me down where love was
on a blue burn to remember the real pain.
I’m worn out from my back’s arch and pull,

As for that other thing
which comes when the eyelid is glazed
and the wax gleam

Sometimes if you’ve been in and out of them a lot for you
The clouds and layers of air and color become stale.
They can boil and twist, spill blood on the plane,

A bunch of old snakeheads down by the pond
carrying on the swan tradition, hissing
inside their white bodies, raising and lowering their heads

1. Fat Man
(Shokado)

Clearly, the man eats too much.

In late autumn man bids farewell
to his best friend, and sets
his face against a background

The beginning was hills, moss-covered stones,
October flowers. I climbed all day,
those damp beginnings. I felt

As soon as my sister and I got out of our
mother’s house, all we wanted to
do was fuck, obliterate

There is the building.
Beside it stands a column

that will cure restlessness.