Three Poems

We bake a dozen kinds of muffins every day
yet we are cold and disquieting at heart.
I fear for his sciatica, though
we were never lovers.
Let me memorialize this mattress, M.
Ie comte, he will be decent
in this fog that emanates from everything
though the air is fresh and sunny. Thought
about wandering down to the river to have a
look at the water. It always has so much to say,
more than the upended rain barrel in its day
had. See the monkey in its cage.
Bright eyes are feasting again and again.

In the casual track of a zipper my penis
...