A Plate of Poems
For Panzo
even the table will surely break
or find its fat legs
swimming in quicksand
garbling for a loose rope
drives down
the red dressing over green leaves
the red pouch
of rib glistening
its blood
tempting teeth
hearts
and a hard prick
dance zuchinni
I kiss the tempting bulb
of green onion
tiptoe in the valleys
of casaba
and now before the king
rest
this table like a wet maiden
hair full and open