lost in San Pedro
no way back to Barcelona.
the green soldiers have invaded the tombs.
madmen rule Spain
and during a heat wave in 1952 I buried my last concubine.
no way back to the Rock of Gibraltar.
the bones of the hands of my mother are so still.
stay still now, mother
stay still.
the horse tossed the jock
the horse fell
then got up
on only 3 legs—
the 4th bent nearly in two
and all the people anguished for the jock
but my heart ached for the horse
the horse
the horse
was terrible
was truly terrible.
sometimes think about one or the other of my women.
wonder what we were hoping for when we lived together
our minds shattered like the 4th leg of that horse.
remember when women wore dresses and high heels?
remember whenever a car door opened all the men turned to look?
was a beautiful time and I’m glad I was there to see it.
no way back to Barcelona.
the world is less than a fishbone.
this place roars with the need for mercy.
there is this fat gold watch sitting here on my desk
sent to me by a German cop.
wrote him a nice letter thanking him for it
but the police have killed more of my life than the crooks.
nothing to do but wait for the pulling of the shade.
pull the shade.
my 3 male cats have had their balls clipped.
now they sit and look at me with eyes emptied
of all but killing.
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