Because water and sewer mains are destined
In corruption to flow together
Toward death's vast leavening.

Maybe the moon is made of ice, not cheese,
And that's why it's so frightening.

Though on a warm night,

Nakedness isn't guilty,
But it's never unaware. At night
The white blossoms go on

By silence he meant it's bad enough
To squander words on paper. Don't waste them.
Along with your breath, on air. By exile

I got off my plane in a strange country
And saw you standing in the airport
With a blind smile, your eyes like diamonds,

In all honesty, saying this
As if reaching out to hold your hand
And attest to a truth, my tongue

The truth is none of our business.
Our adolescent eye-at-the-keyhole rooting
In a sweetheart’s soiled linen for a clue