One evening when I was ancient and clapping hands enough to call out from among the bottle necks:

“Homey, if only old green and then you’ll push me down to the antique wagon

Someone shall leave me a warren-full of green and circular saws or maybe

You’ll sing and on a penal colony light and a light jacket tied around your waist.

I was a bank teller with knowledge. Mixed up by earthquakiness his sister fed the cat milk again and I alone was left to curse in the cellar

Driving a nail through her foot or she brought me a jacket. It was nice and new and the collar was trimmed with an oil fire

Ravaging a bird sanctuary. Let’s speak of my life, of how down below a manhole cover I broke an ankle and ate my only brother

But I was a banker with an intimate knowledge of the Gold Coast and my pockets, he emptied my pockets producing dumplings.

What then if driving off and someone pushes someone off a cliff—you—

And didn’t you have a nice jacket as you bounced on the rocks below? Your shoes are stolen,

Long distance carriers emerge from the men’s room and they fall off the cliff

Or me, I see better when they met me in the desert propping up a cokes machine. You’re a fucking caveman.

Is it your intention to steal all the bank notes to steal all the notes? Maybe you’re singing on Waffle Sunday

In the men’s room where an oil fire where gazelles and where I stop to check the cardinal’s pulse.

Unless you could, and could you knock over the table with your hands bound together or could you manage

And then once you lit my funeral pyre but I was calf-roping in Texas.

A light in your eyes, a hungry woman in the ravine behind your house.

A sporty little car fills with gerrymandering, with a Hoover Dam or with

Me, a knowledgeable bank teller and I move freely from or at least you are complete, my riverbank,

All I ask in return is that you carry home my kittens.

I’m falling into your gazpacho.

Each crumb of your loaf that reaches my skin fertilizes me.

For each person waiting in line for our love there’s a lap dog swimming

Across the moat from the jail towards old green, and do you have you something to say before you fly off in arrears?”