An unlit world knows nothing of desire,
said God to Adam, pointing to his hip;
The pleasure’s naming what you most require,

Wish you were heir / To more naturalness / Than simple lust

Can you be busted for fucking / The enemy? The radio is curiously / Still in the tropical night

They call me that because of how I sew,
quick as mercury still, at my age;

Perambulations in the dawn 
Through long cold silent empty streets 
Bring him to the frozen playground 

The beach is a balance oscillating
in the sunlight, it is a see-saw
  our town gleams on.

I perched curious as a little bird on the windowsill
between the Age of Enlightenment
and the age of thirty. Disappointment scuttled

That’s a hot dog with fried onions 
(the kind that come in a can) and stripes 
of brown mustard and mayo. We each 

To feel you knock
your radishy
fist against the wall

Split a rental house in Hackensack
with two friends—fellow painters (Judy
and Stu? Suze and Elwood?) who