three lost men
on guerrero the lost man and light rain
oiling the cobblestones and i wanted to know
did he think how shocking to die
alone in the woods as opposed to what, in a chair
in front of the tv or in a bed. he said it was
no problem; he'd had a good life. but
a lost man was lost and then he was found
and then he went to denver and then he came back here.
i have seen him buying poster board
and going to the gym. the woman was behind the gate.
her husband had died recently.
he was the one in the wheelchair. i saw him often
between the bar and photocopying shop.
her eyes were like the cobblestones
with yellow candle light; the lost man
had told me how the husband did it. i
understood. this lamplight reminded me of you
of course, forty five degrees. i hoped for a different
message, as on guerrero, how shocking
to die alone in the woods i said
but a lost man said it was really no problem.
you, too, had that house built
xanadu, after being
one of those i walked past
downtown las vegas
cup faced for your beer in the sun
and if i was on my way to a circus
circus; or did i think one day
for instance i would find myself
the same, with rotten fruit
flattened on your stoop
as you, in the bear park, while in your mind
in jacksonville: all those people
if they could see my house?
first thing, sell it going
back to that bar, bmw
keys and drinks all round.
that bum? and shaking their heads all round.
they won't even believe it. no one will
you say no one will, you say no
one will you say no one will.