En corse

Now, should I ignore Homer and Pound

Parker, Devaney, Creamy Creeley and McCreary?

What pokes me most are names

some dull thumbs have their way.

Bob was anything but my friend.

So I care less for poets, and more for friends.


 
Here I disperse. En Corse, la mer e la moglie, wife and wind

Heartily chatting with some satan


 
Haltertops? No, but plenty of Easterners there

So many young Balkans make you want to make out

Like the fish who seem to kiss as they

die amassed in silver bliss


 
As we fished, a bucket of lit haze by the beach

As we slept, a zip of invisible space divides

In the three-room tent

In shadow of overgrown and bent

I kill this

pull off  legs of crickets

crunch snails like an English boy

break and create shade

   
and disguise it

like fish in a ziplock.