"Mail leading to ..."

"All the lines in my hand are written for thee"
- John Borra

Mail
leading to
paranoia at dawn, a taxi idling. "I am desolate with grief, sir,
but it's impossible. I will not be reasoned with. Life
admits only so many arguments."
Healthful and bland.    Sauce for colour.      The weather.
The name before the fruit        set gorgeously forever.
"The difference between music and breathing is attention."

Prayer flags on every porch. No urgency today.
I can stay a while. Pronounced the American way
loneliness is a distance. Yawns. The shepherd across the stream
from his pretty-faced flock.
The wind horse carries us away.    So we go
back to Our Portuguese Composer.
Flags in used car lots. Church yards. Tire-eyes. Red ink.
Of course like a pen. The lines in your hand.
Air horse of Bedlam.
The social club at the back of the streetcar
which takes us only closer to what we love.

If the trains take us further, they slide on beer.
Hang them from wires
            yellow green red white blue
In the empty diner music plays from the blender
they come one after the other
each one dirty and new
drink
down the side of the milkshake glass
the bottom bubbles of the cosmos
           shop windows
sparkle their line. For you. Follow.