SUN IN THE HOUSE OF CANCER

Now with the haughty imps going
commando in the saltmarshes, recall

how a walking pattern held the polychromatic
map of glass shards. Don't touch me, I'm

the Prince of Ghosts; the unconsoled hovered
between those breasts, a couple

drops on the white tip of black Chucks,
tongues darting behind the frog-

green miniature houses; she gave away
those baubles, the rocket

pauses in ether just before
it starts to tumble, a pinwheel

for the horny gulf & the thin clouds
will not avenge me. A cherry tomato

bursts, the wheat fries
in the fields. Rihaku:

gonna get me a shotgun & go down
to the river to practice my smile.