Sao Paulo (Doesn´t See Me) in the Morning

Beyond the exploding green pulp that sweats
in the morning Sao Paulo sun´s first impression
tiny cars string along between the bird-heavy leaves
shining sun into each little window moving past.

The prostitutes last night came clean with me:
`You are very kind, good-hearted and compassionate,´
she said dressed as they do. A firm grasp and so
she performed as ought she had always done.
Was this the plot´s product? Or just what makes it fun?

This question planted yet another acre in the anxious orchard,
a door slamming all of a sudden is all of the strong breeze;
nobody´s angry!
The other one there and different thought
another slip into the thing I kept secret: a lacrosse stick
mistook for a tennis racket. It worked and I wanted it.
And then the expectant hand that follows dimmed me.

The morning sun delivers the pool´s shimmer
against the white of all the young risings.

Three from the Vault

´Opening to New Notebook on 2 May 2008´

The image perceived is me. So to that I speak.
Don´t dawdle in the shining of the meek;
there is porridge insinuation you put there,
when you let your eyes swell with worry.
Pop massages the pull-to-mama: it´s home!
And wherever the flesh weakens: it´s bone!
Blend the witch´s hair into a face too sorry
to believe in a shrewd chewable sorcery.

Somewhere there is a place where mirrors are made,
the mercury all molten into shapes is laid.

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´The Rainbow´s Relax´

The task master
genulflects
down this street.
The answer?
A rainbow
blasting from his eyes.
My icon bear heart,
sore is the size of these words,
but it´s in the sky where the birds
peck at the trees that don´t change.

-------------
´Almost a Mother´

I wonder what the sunshine thinks
when those long fingers pull mothers
into that position where babies pop
headless into the light-fat street
where we all of us are a-happy
to smile and wave and remember
they way she looked that gone December