A Bike Ride

It was hot outside when the tube sprung a leak.
I was at the farthest end of a loop I'd never rode before.
So I walked back home holding the bike, and quite long
This walk was, though it didn't seem it, not within this glare, shirtless,
Realizing the smallness of emotion, and the immensity of this tiny town:
Both more alien, and urgent, larger than before our world went behind the sun.

We spooned as we spurned one another.
The calculus had a sense of its own:
It was not mine, it was not hers,
It belonged to Santa Fe,
Which gusted heat.

Phone book

Close the door, face the wall
Turn around your face,
There will be no call.

Family

My father sits at home and drinks
My mother sits at home and thinks
My brother roams the avenue
I still don't know what I should do.

Letters

In licking a stamp
I send saliva
To you.

In licking a stamp
I send saliva
To you.

My dog is so popular

I go to a community garden next to a proper French school
almost every fine day to let our little dog play
outside of our apartment where she can sniff, scratch and drool
inside a fence so I can read without too much, um,
supervision; and sometimes I exercise as she ambles about
throwing my arms and legs all akimbo
and often the kids press up to the fence to shout, "!!!,"
making me feel like a pervert

"Marriage" by William Carlos Williams

So different, this man
And this woman:
A stream flowing
In a field.