Week 22933-?

Fortunate Sunday afternoons with suns

beating upon our furious laughter

slick with water dripping down

brown backs sipping all the while,

slipping and steadying ourselves on each other.


Why this sudden love?

Boys, why this desire to rub yourselves

together when so often not?

Why this okay for hooking arms

on shoulders and never again?

Maybe, like drugs, these are too much experience.


Lights from mountains, red and black

blink binarily in couplets.

There is this fervor i fear
that is only found in others
smarter, better, more lovely
of face and hand, more bright
in mind and spirit, than I.

Other Silent People

Who cries?

Hidden like glass in candy

we streak past knuckled trees,

shadows hulking toward us in black images.

We taste wool,

we hear some moonish bird purr.

In the dark we grope for each other

and rest quietly

with wet breaths

on arms warm with sleep.