Memories
At this time my sky is December and light chocolate
gun
Apollo II rocket holding
polystyrene beads as men on the moon.
At this time my heart trembles and gunpowder
breaks silence
no Christmas. At this time
am a grateful child's father dying,
of
love stories and life.
Testament
When I die
pay for the cremation will be my treasure.
A cardboard box crammed with papers that history
stained yellow color
time.
They
ashes be mixed with bare soil.
If the flowers arrive,
have I been so displayed. If weeds
there is nothing to say.
My
autistic child spit on
ashtray butts for
disgusted and thus deepen the anguish of dirty today
starting autumn and their ordeal.
luck The shock death
my skin
telluric
thrilling bursts my heart slow.
In one of these
I'll start with me exfanfarria
poetry drunk or laughing.
of thirty-three (New York: Flight Log, 1996)
