I give you a lake stocked with flying fish, named after a Spaniard,

A railroad baron actually, who harassed me in the kitchen beneath the cabinets

And made me run the dishwasher one evening while he wrote Cervantes’ biography.

He could drink a lot of water, especially on a golf course seated atop his prize stallion

Named after his aunt, a small photo of whom he kept in a locket, taken after her legendary prison stay for between five and seventeen years,

But then he would be very tired. He could lecture endlessly like a typhoon

On that golf course, about his brother and his wife, who he met through a Chinese hocus-pocus purveyor

While sleeping in a hammock on a ghost ship.

Between murdering locksmiths and fishing in sinkholes for prizemoney

A justice of the peace tried to sell him his hat, for nothing, and me his horse, but he went back to sinkholes instead!

—Which makes you one lucky locksmith I guess, like an hombre whose death certificate got lost in the mail on the way to his mother’s house!

Anyway, he put one smelly foot on the big book and with a burning glare

All the stupid copywriters waiting for their aunts’ throats to be cut at sea

Told him it was you who’d been screaming in the garden every Tuesday, waving a big axe, as though you were a grand angel, riding in on the front of the bullet train!

I’m giving up all I’ve done in green like a shark’s fin awash and curtsying my man,

As I ship out for hours cement or happily. Whose glue hardened for over or suntanning a large or small banana tree

And my fever rose screaming one evening and my cerebellum left the garrison.

Are you a water carrier? Seasonally fervid or the favorite order where butterflies underwater via aqueduct

Or don’t you can’t you recollect? Along the side of the road were fairy tale houses or their windows, fronts held up by supporting posts though ten men leaned on each to keep them from falling in a strong wind

And tired, you my reader. Are you also the typhoon pulling up your socks? Three o’clock a hollow belly or lunchtime and a glass of water

The waiter in white. His apron. Less brotherly had few brothers mostly sisters and a dog sorcerer with magic bone and phantasmal leash

Asleep at the foot of the clock until Bong! And then we’d climb the mountain to recite my poetry.

Enter the marauders the marauders enter through the front door having somehow gotten ahold of the key. Somehow while we searched the goldfish pond for its bottom with our eyes we’d forgotten about that.

Just as And then the bathtub overflowing fell through the ceiling, hot water raining on the horse’s face My I couldn’t say nothing The Mayor

—Oats! Keys! Hombre help me mark the chalk line where his horse lies finished.

Fools fill the foothills, lightly. Under their dull disregard or therein the serum of insiders

Or those who misunderstood the stampede who opened the door who were juggled into the rotation and set out to sea.

Did you spit on those eyes, jaded? Did you spin for the music or for the angel riding first car on the zuzz train?