Words You'll See

Like stop listening,
the yellow leaves,
and the lemon yellows.

You say it
like you know the answer
you know the rest

Flies inside today,
attracted to the specks,
are charming up the place a bit.

I can walk away to the mountain
and drive away to the sea
and it's only summer yet.

Blue Lungs Trying

Here now, sweet,
desert heat, an oasis
of sun-blockers and pieced
vehicles: a matte motorcycle
like Los Angeles in the times.

Here at the beach,
the river bends
and our backs do,
nothing gold
except sweet jaws,
gold only the mango.

Here, sleeveless,
the children growing
up wild are they
piercing kidneys now
with their skin,
running scabby to death.

Here there's smoke here,
smoke here in the wind,
charcoal and sunglasses,
weekday mornings, casual
as holiday seashells.

Saturdays like the last of them
celebrating collections in our heart pieces
of what we value in the trees around us:
the leaves we can't get to.

Scrolling down of the truck's window
as a reset button to freest freedom:
the man carrying home the pieces to make breakfast,
right turns without looking

Five minutes to the store,
sins upon him, sins unto her like
-a year sloughing about outside of Mexico City-
fluency as heroism, as peace.

As twangy as lighting one cigarette
with the prior one, pine,
and then rocking back,
what is it, tucked away.

Forgive me mother, I have confessions
that I dissolve with the sun out here.

Now I know
the loquat tree

It's almost a song,
the echo of a song:

on the bat's back I fly
merrily toward summer

tasting the citrus,
peeling back the sweet skin
of March, sundowning outside

street lamps in the hills
above us, new canvas shoes
and baseball caps to honor one another

the grills billowing
moist heat in the night
we can watch it now

in full wonder,
revisiting the desert
at the hottest of times

relishing these epiphanic
entertainments and her fruits.



songs to survive the summer