The Mock Mirage of Astronomical Objects

Twilit rooftop in the class of
young, all-american men clearing
six feet clean, swarthy tans
summer bent still
over their bones

what of America supreme
war and worship I walk
your kingdom’s line with
dog-faced poems running
loose in me

there you stood
fixed vortex on the far
making steady steady

I seen you in three cities
from New York to Wichita
two summers passed us, now
they are all one

you glide amid galaxies
tailing a phantom, telling
you her life

hung that moon huh that
gold hoop in the gu-gutter
face up in the red light
I fold my royal flush

you talk your tongue
out of motion, dead
or asleep cabrón you please
hauling the silver ball
to my feet

swirling it opens
and englobes in bright
glow, swift night goes
psycho, while apples
sweeten in the tree.