she peered through 16th century eyes
waiting to live, afterwards
the man on her couch, relaxed
in the wreckage of his favorite skin
empty, shut in spaces of self
naked, afterwards
voices interjected, the pleasure of blackness
piss and Buddhist teachings
wine on the floor, afterwards
the promise of evening, sidewise comets
the resonance of weeds
climbing through every house
safe in the rustle of moon, afterwards
curves of the empty land
distant detonation
fierce driving wheel,
close to the scream and the deathlike
babble of clocks
slim shoulders
curved into voices, afterwards,
brooding the midnight magic

Copyright © 2009 by A.J. Kaufmann. All rights reserved.