loose

was your name written on a blanket

in the dessert the hunter asked

dangling his shaft eating bar food

the grey beetle night leaving

the sun flat against the ceiling

clouds painted behind her like a painting

a bomb belonging to the neighbors

borrowed but unreturnable at that point

exploded

yes the magic kitten was fighting the milk worm

blood and cream and stars pooling out from under the door

it is night now and so we are well clothed

out inside the city your name written on a blanket

out in the dessert the hunter dangling his sad shaft

the sun's moonwhite barf flat against the floor

clouds painted behind her like a painting

borrowed and unreturnable

his name was Ben Talk from bangkok and

he lived in cambodia with my three daughters

each one more beautiful than the other

they taught english to the gatekeepers' sons

grey beetles were seen eating the head of an owl

leaving only tragedy to clean up after itself

and tragedy refuses to do the dishes

.....and they are plenty dirty to do

magic eats the head of tomorrow

on the back porch of an owl

a long slow streak of red

(there are so many great DJ's in instanbul right now)