I was born on Tuesday
in the valley;
Seventh Son, grown up screaming
through her alleys
smoking dope / dodging hope,
Getting lost on Friday evening.

Silence marched on

younger then the moon
light and trees, gathering freedom
in open doorways and eves.

I saw the monsters dancing
up the hillside
beyond dawn or falling into
the wells of ink, the movement
of Venus whose soft belly is filled with life.

Who didn’t know their hard skin
would answer with roses
and romance.

Where did it come from?
I was busy being friends with them
when you reminded me

a wildcat has six toes.
Esau, brother Esau, they wish us no mercy.