II. Forty-Seven Nests (I Think)

these are not the kind
that turn into butterflies,

these are the kind
that eat the leaves away
until the tree is dead

(they hideaway in nests at
night when the killing has
been done).

A Boy From South Africa, Not Welcome

Butter
Soy Sauce
Paper Towels

(What is this -
barely begun when
the boat docked)

What is this -
A list?
A scam?
Another piece of paper
proving how unclever his mind
is,

She is still stronger,
(remembers the condiments)-

A boy from South Africa,
not welcome,
because he has earned his privacy,
his right not to be frustrated
with new questions and ideas,

A boy from South Africa,
forgetting again to take the steak
in before drinking new beer,

What is this -
A girl,
A boy,
He is black,
He is cute,
What is this -
A list?
A scam?

A list of questions before
Thursday,
(She has once again proven
how clever her mind is).

I. Caterpillar Man

kills all the caterpillars,
blows them to death with fire;

watches them cooking, curling,
sizzling, climbing, dying, curling,
dying, crawling, being stomped on.

their nest is dead.
i am lost,

he is tripping over the river bank,
(i step over it),
he is tripping over the tree stumps,
(i step over it),

he is killing caterpillars,
from the trees
down to the ground,
stomping,
all at once
putting out the fire,
killing all the caterpillars.

Can Weed Kill You?

And if so, how quickly...

Skin Like Raw Meat

The rain is a break
from the break between us,
from the reflection of the water
on my skin,
as red as stone,

from the meat on the barbeque,
How do you like yours?
Well-done or raw?

We are covered from each other,
for reasons of our own:
the skin is red, the skin is
plump like a new mother
and her baby child -
we both have been treated like children,

stand apart from each other,
ignoring the break where our fingers
don't fit in.

You have come here from far
and spent the first two days with me,

First contemplating how much room there
is and where we should leave it to roast
in the sun, over fishbowls, vodka, water
and beer, and

Second looking away from the shady spots
around your pool that should find us
and falling asleep

after finishing lunch,
one quarter plate vegetables,
three quarters plate steak,

yours rare,
and mine medium well-done.

-
My father's steak is better than this,
your friend with the money would
never allow such a thing.

My Boys

Earth's grasses are green
and there is pending danger.

The air smells like rain,
the breeze feels like we're not safe here,
(again the time has come
when the space under the deck

is not
big enough).

Leonard drugs me up,
Charles reminds me what is lucky,
Czeslaw teaches me
that the earth will be ok.

Sifting Through Madness

Bukowski reminds us of the
paralleling number of poets
and whores that have
existed through time.

There are
thirty-six
of each
who matter
and the rest
are left
wallowing.

Poets and whores -
and/or one in the same.
I have no jokes, no witty comments,
no history of knowledge to pull out
when the time has come.
I have no friends, just liars,
and I have no peace.

I listen well and I know;
I have hair that shines when I will it,
and a smirk to always give
But I do not fit into categories,
bored, fearless, dared, or blessed,

And it will rain tonight regardless:

Poets and whores will both wear the rain.

All The

look at all


the

dandelions
on our
front lawn,

let me get one,
let me -

let me smear

it down
your arm;

she gets tired,
she says,

you
stay
out of here.

The Leaves...

I keep asking if
anyone else thinks
the world around
here is dying.

The trees look dead,
the grass looks dry,
and my backyard
has been made a golf course.

Even he forgets
himself
why he came.

I keep waking up wondering
how my bed
got at this angle
and then staring at the trees,

and the sky before thinking:
it's time to get out of bed.

I wonder what he knows
about the patches
of dirt where the grass used to be;

I wonder what he knows
about the branches ten feet tall
with blossoms about them.

Even new company stays the same,

and all the dead trees ever do
is fall between the boredom
of the sky and ask:
what have you been doing?

Division Street

the road has just been
swept today,
very. very. clean.

i can't stop
staring and i notice

the sidewalk outside your house
is missing,

and i hate the lines in the
grass that tell me it is true
and i know, i know the sidewalk was there
because she used to make me change the route
to school to walk by your house and stare
at the mary and jesus in the tree.

i still do not know these backyards,
the cops come there,
that boy lives there,
that woman gave us five dollars
for our baked good and then refused
to take them,

and he has left me for his
boyfriend,

and he says "caitlin, right?"
and i say "yes, do i know you"

"chris"
"oh yes"

"have you moved?
isn't this your house?"

"yes it is".