Autumn in Eugene

It is not California today but it’s sunny and cool.

And there are cities in which we still have not made love:
San Francisco, Las Vegas, Portland, Vancouver, Seattle, Chicago,
New York, St. Louis, entire state of Kansas.

I haven’t taken a bullet for you – my heart is filled with fiberglass.

We are only as fragile as the street signs we use.
When you’re blonde, I say, “Yield.”
When I’m bald, you say “Merge.”

I’ve suffered chest wounds, a bad back, a globe
balanced between my shoulder blades.

You’ve walked the darkened corridor
That leads to Connecticut. You’ve flown the bird-machine to Baltimore.

We’ve slain the day. We’ve destroyed a few myths.

I’ve examined all the proofs, brandished a red pen.
We’ve marginalized each other.

You are a cramped hand. I am a tight scribble.
We are subordinate to the body. To the bodies.

America is useless without us.