the golden age of

The golden age of travel...
I was late to that.

The golden age of sex...
I was late for that too

The golden age of Romantics...
far too late

The golden age of blood and honor...
there are no such things
in my day and hour

The golden age of pre-crisis dotcom VCs...
hell, late

The golden age of California...
not in this backwater place

The golden age of iron men...
me was never a warrior

The golden age of whatever the fuck...
I am sure I am late for that too

may is a blank month

may is a blank month
that lives in a knot of promise
that doctors have never
been able
to find in corpses' stomaches.

I escape the watchers
by being a blank moth
living in a knot of white walls
that no one
has ever pinpointed in a map,

for such things are only
follies

a lot of jesus everywhere

a lot of jesus everywhere,
more than could be healthy,
but this place ain't bethelem, ya cunt.

My chest deflates
under the noon heat.
News of faraway couplings
arrive,
in waves.

How can people handle
the fucking in this heat?

Only the legion of jesuses
are impervious to sweat
and tiredness.

Only a lineage of goats,
feed on rocky grass
and suns that are tyrants,
could manage to stare back
with such glassy eyes,
and make you feel a sad bastard.

The canorous chorus
of vaginas...
sing the sun a searing song.

jesuses don't care.