17/30

"didn’t i tell you” you say
“the last time i was on this road
i saw an armored car
on it’s side," with a smoking hole blown
in the back

you say “ i rolled down the windows”
hoping some money blew in"
i think of a flock of dollars
of a beard of bees
of a swarm of angry twenties
lifting the car, and you, away to paris
your body ascending on a cloud of engravings
a million birthday cards, gutted
our stiained matress made green in a sudden spring

the mole on your left buttock
is a lightswitch that i am never sure
is connected to a live circuit
till the bulbs glow
and i picture you glowing now
with a light to shame the moon

would you pull me from the shipwreck?
take me along, a bad tempered lapdog,
an uncouth butler for your summerhome
an aging cabana boy?

would you buy yourself a new body
to drape in diamonds? a house and title?
rolled english lawns and turrets?
a cloud of ink to vanish into
like a squid on a reef?

i would collect what you left behind,
the name, the hunger, the cloud, the numberless parts
transfigured by your millions
come in the night and burgle the rest,
jewelthief of your mole, your skin, your rags

you are a horde of jewels
a heist, a mobsters jewelbox of joys
i am already the richest thief
transfigured by sudden and miraculous wealth