The Zenithal Hour


tilting my head to the Perseid shower—I see nothing

neck supported by a chair cushion—so still—I see nothing

the absence of it, the streaks abstaining

as my elbows feed the mosquito

and my mouth becomes a housing for more vodka

I see nothing but the natal pink of the morning’s skin

the taste of gummy bear on my tongue


the sky

it speaks:

See me, drunk man,

but never take me in,

never watch me when I shower,


not with such sad eyes,

undressing my dawn,

high on a gummy bear”




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