Multum in Parvo


at the top of the Sierras
heroin don’t reach
free markets
forgotten on tongues
of bare-breasted natives
big-boned ladies talking
‘40s ‘20s ‘30s
no coffee for their coffee
of unfiltered blacks
on streets like waves … Continue reading

One-Week Dean

You hombres’d like to know maybe or, rather, I’d like to tell you of a pale whoreboy by the Texaco, like the last chocolate – he’s long been travelling, he says, the capillaries of the nation.

Leather-Jacket-Right-On-Own-Skin type this fallen, fallen, three times fallen James Dean; jacket’s unzipped, door ajar & straight into his ivory (also, Marlboros for fireplace). … Continue reading

Cousin’s Thumbnail

My cousin called us to a corner of the yard
where a coconut tree struck shadows
of long stripes with ends like knives.

“Look,” he said, “it’s almost time.”
He unravelled the thin scrap of cloth
that had been wrapped round his thumb

for a week. We knew something
happened when he went to visit
Uncle who had the temper of a typhoon. … Continue reading