Untitled 1975–86

^{—after Alvin Baltrop & Frank O’Hara}

Glorious!                     what mountain  
of mouths i could boulder my tongue  
from. what bountiful luck i must  
have acquired to own a debt  
from every man. i like this type of sweet;  
tongue stained in mulberry  
blood like new york concrete in june. and here  
we are again in june. with all the summer’s  
bees and root beer floats and boys screaming  
laughter into the jaws of a sprinkler head. and i, too, am  
so joyful here, i have forgotten that january  
ever existed. can you smell the bark? the branches  
and men slumping with fruit? i will miss this  
come fall, when the wind turns  
a sugared maple. it’s so cliche to cling  
to the boys i once kissed, but i will admit it,  
i have loved a boy ragged until the last  
leaf fell from his gums.