sad in your retrospect

if i were dreaming
if i ever dreamed
or remembered

that i dream i would dream
fractals like his hands
recursed each morning
pushing against windows

and renegade colors oh
black of the eye
lashes, white as a scream.














()











she wastrels the last drops of day
after a confrere, a consideration
of which lines she can leave blank
and which she must fill in. must.
for the list grows more empty
the futher into time she gets:
yes, the big things too begin
to shrink, like smooth skin
over a scar or the blocks of hard
pan scored in her thighs. her
measurements are never concise
enough for a micrometer's date
but she can fake the last four
decimal places and leave on time tonite.












**(

and oh the rain over the cabana
at the end of honeymoon island.
you remember when we never went here
but the plum of the thunder
followed us anyway, me, refusing to let you
go this way: you refusing



()()





and it's not that his hands are less
than what i offered you. it's just
that i'm the one who must receive
over and over and sometimes i feel
as if i were already burst