Alone With A Gun

i painted you a green picture

it had the germs of life, 

oaks stood

kittens purred

like all ancient establishments

one old man singing at night

when the city is a forest

and the forest is a city

and both of us must drown

for autumn steps in

like an auteur, to wave

at our little flags of kindred mercy

and threesome is best in the snow

and women come and go

and so does Michelangelo

all in quaint motions across your forehead

where the sun burns like aimless dots,

ambling for the salt on the shores

for the blood in the skies

thus, i painted a green picture

it was the night of the vultures

it was another jigsaw puzzle

and there was no way to tell

the lonely who die

from the dead who are lonely

and now, from town to town

my golden monsters be blessed

send me postcards from Babylon

tell me of the lion-edged maps and charts

that point at the last tram

before it wipes off the frame

and the ghosts of the mist

who smell like childhood

and taste like death

tell their tales of conquest 

to the kind Emperor

as things grow cold 

along the curves of your tiny wrists,

and the green uncertainty

and pendulums and shadows of certain cool rivers

all add up. Narrow whispers surround us. Thus, we wait.