from The Songs of Robert

_____

They rise & fall, my unrequited lusts,

wherefore I catch myself away out there,

alone & not too dignified. I want

but am afraid to. When her looking lights

on me a little (it has happened once

or twice) the airwaves burn my ears, I pop

a sweat but snap trés cool, trés nonchalant

& salamander-slick I look away––then:

(beat) : a whiff of honeysuckle, gust

of rain, my mullet mussed & fluttering,

I veer to harbor in the lockers’ blue

& panting like a porch-dog. So it goes.

Thing is, I chart me out a secret bliss,

triangulate both knowing & unknown,

a figure traced of certain gestures, certain

tender strivings hidden from the world,

unuttered for-each-other…But the sheer

of things, the pressing-up against my chest,

the sunlit there-ness knocks without a sound

me back. My furry spontaneities

flit down their holes & sulk. I squat nearby,

lick my hurtfuls, grub & snarl—