FRESCO

it's true
I have smoked
a hundred
cigarettes in two days
drank too much
not enough
and have searched
these walls
as advised
by a poet
east of here
can you guess
what I have found
a fresco
of a young man
primitive and un-
refined as
the despoiler
of sixteen year old girls
liked that one
he fucked
and nearly lost
his freedom over
his beard tangled
with the sweat of labor
his forehead smooth
not blackened yet
his cock
the hunter of pleasure
his tongue
sharp as 
a drunk surgeon's scalpel
his legs strong
yet unknowing of distance
his chest broad
yet not lanced
in the fruitless battles
he invited
and when the sun is right
I see the fresco
say to myself
now that is not me
it is a chiseled deception
yet knowing
it is true
as I light another
cigarette
find another beer
one hundred million
of them
against the wall
and counting


SKELETON

in the even-
ing as the sun
fell away
she lay
on the sofa we shared
drunk beyond pain
and a black fly
walked
triumphant
on her white
face
his was
an exploration
of the dead
anesthetized flesh
a concession of territory
there for his mindless
insect encroachment
as he walked on her face
with tiny black
eyelash legs
I sat across the room
immobilized
in my own failure
and indecision
as the sun
went down in windows
a gentle and
ageless beauty
forever there
for me
the fly
and the
skeleton


SQUARE ONE

where I am
is in this shell
basalt
is the texture
this integument
has grown back
in the span
of several minutes
metamorphosis
in a telephone call
back to
square one
with its 
gunmetal sameness
with its
billboards in the sky
billboards that say noth-
ing
nothing
but the promise of work
devoid of destination
where I am
is the flat square
where machines
are broken
and people as well
if you move
too fast
you will become
invisible
zero
functus officio
and no longer
will your shoes fit
your intestines will knot
there will be a stone
in your chest
and you will become
parcel non-returnable
you will wait
for the stout-bodied 
rodents of death
waiting
eating
digesting clear liquids
and counting
the thin clock ticks
of zero
approximation
this is where
I am
no longer amazed
how short and
monosyllabic
the crossing
has been