It has been several weeks since my last contribution--I send my apologies to the scores of disappointed readers. I have not written much lately, but am currently working on a different frontier of mythology. Those of you who know: you know. That particular piece, however, is not at this time suitable for public consumption. Thus I submit to you, dear readers, a small composition for your select digestion.



THE PROBLEM ALL THE TIME

It had been years
since I shimmied up
a tree, so
I did,
and upon descending
observed
winter light
and the luscious hair
of the fields.

LONELY MEN NEGLECT THEIR WOMEN

I am not that
hungry silhouette
moiling the moon-silence
of the long steppe.
I have not the thin eyes,
nor the wolf-belly;

You have known me.
My spurs
do not pit
other porches in the dark—
My eyes haven’t got
the low black hush
of moths that clutter
the gutters
of lonely men. No,

I have loved you richly.
What more needs man
than the slim revolver
of your tongue and
your six-chamber hips?