Rolling around

Europe in bed. Black and white night.
      who are these wolves       my eyes itch
      and somewhere       I know      where      you stare      or sleep
  I don't know      the anything who makes anyone      "Hello
This is not metaphysical    or specific"    but the manginess
of conditions persists        Celestial music in the bar
I can't doc       don't want to get too close
Yes it is a monstrous quasar     and far
  I tore the sheet four times carefully
folded it        now sleep is done let's eat and work
You look well he said and invited me to dinner
He's disappeared and giggles     I should call him    I will

*

She wades in the pool which is there for wading
6 men to cut the chain    then
      "you're not with the city"
"we don't want nobody to steal it"
I understand and maybe even think you're pretty
crazy     a touch of Europe, meaning class    1 to 6 months a year
today the custard is sweet
and the wasps barely breathing

       evenings all week on the national gulag
The long line of houses goes on until they're drowned in the sea
      He is a blissed-out buccaneer
      and queer
two blocks later    the same station
"He'll stab you right between the mountains"

*

He is a blissed-out buccaneer
       and queer
he hits it high     our hearts are dim
they cannot see and anyway it's crowded
behind the fence another field and another
The wind coaxed by whispers
       around the mound
stutters

in the evening the lawns are drenched
up and down the street it is dry
the sidewalk washed     it is so
"If the seas and the oceans overflow
      we will sail away together"

blue of the stadium    blue of the sky
the one with more lines
is the better poem

Did he lose an eye
    falling in a graceful haphazard
and a masterpiece
Did not. Friends who hang around
till you're ready.     I
      having chosen my master     would be
  but he's dead
and bobbles it, womanly