Poem for Billy The Kid reborn as Buddha

A story about maps is told by my mother
who strokes the side panel
of a baby in her stomach.  

Legion of thoughts coming
through the eyes points north
his past lives    her umbilical love  

This is what really happened
Billy the Kid reborn in Bangladesh
prize winning womb reverberates  

warm out today even warmer tomorrow
the last tangible utterance remembered
while kicking in fluid  mother wades the river  

In the ground    what is in the ground
sharp swords sheathed around
the waist of a barrel of bones  

This is our mutual father (he thinks)
the barrel is full   the top won't close
but inside bubbles are heard through the dirt  

Sonnet entitled to all the girls I've loved before  

Crows place booze and brothel open indefinitely   
this is my number     over there is my name 
come meet me at the marrinet theater    losers
are all over the place at the race track in Newark
but these are the real herds these horses    are painted
red and black   like the bruises on their sides
these hides prefer to gallop    a whisky bar    a downer
yeah that's true I did those things    I had time and patience
so in the valley when the bear comes down from the mountain
she sees a train track and figures to follow
this in real time is travel      a nature station at the metro
she wanted to continue to surmise that day and night
never really meet     it accosts her    while sitting
in a stall   while glancing   at a pair of shoes bought on sale  

Radio
for kari edwards  

If it was me
I would lift
your skirt
over your head.  

But seldom
does it come
down to me
or what
I want to do.  

So you're driving
in my car
and switching
the radio station
when we hear
the news.  

Kari Edwards
has died
from complications
of being alive.  

And now
it's not so important
your pussy
or my cock.  

It's drained
the mood
but we do it anyway
in the backseat,  

so that if she's
bored in the void
waiting
to be transferred  

she can laugh
at our bumbling
fumbling
the bra-strap  

with the static
over the speakers.

On the Corner

My heart relaxes in your hands
I say this as the medicine
to move your body closer to mine

this is the shooting death
dealt out in the streets
of Brooklyn  

income verification of blood cells
into the organ reports
a despondent lover on the corner  

lets move away from the cerebral sexy
tone the reception of a smokestack
that plants its roots in a wonderful lawsuit  

what have I stolen from you
and how could either of us get away
tonight the internal report  

reads from the palm of the trees
the bark is starving and held
in your mouth in these moments  

From the corner of the dream
the walls appeared white
A heat waves blanket a red air  

I see it while looking at a pair
of swollen feet on thick carpet
the man in the rear window
a telescope on top of a train  

from the corner of the dream
I witnessed a pure white rabbit
being carried in the park by seamstress' daughter