on the pathology of emotive amnesia

ever since i was old enough
to start remembering

my mind would often find itself

skittering along the surface

moving too fast and shallow

to place the exact reason or thing

that left me with the feeling

that i knew that i had

i would retrace my short-term history

scrounging for the reason for my mood

until i found some small or big something

a new micronaut toy

my aunt polly bought for me

when we visited her in chicago

with green metallic wheels

where a person would have had legs

the slow fungal death

of my siamese fighting fish aurora

in his tiny round bowl on the breezeway shelves

ed tuxbury telling me to give him five

and when i gave it

and held out my hand for five in return

him spitting into my palm

a kevin schwantz replica #2

arai motorcycle helmet

in red black and white

with a dark smoke shield

finding cindy werner

kissing mark warford

when she should have been kissing me

a photograph i had taken

of my best friend

framed in a doorway

against the sky

the light curving perfectly around his calf

once i could re-triangulate my position

and be certain mind and mood

had synchronized their watches once more

i could settle back

and let it wash over me again

but then i saw you last night

trying on the spherical pendant necklace

with 3.2 carats of natural world diamonds

in canary, ice blue, aquamarine, and white

encrusting its latticed surface

and i knew i would never forget

those exact coordinates

now

when i misplace the memory

of what it was i was looking forward to

or away from

i will always find myself again

in the center of that small jeweled world

resting in the curved hollow of your bosphorus

watching the sunlight sparkle in

shifting from one shade of the ocean

into another

nineteen ten

(a work in progress…)

we know only a little spanish

so we speak like little children

so we think like little children

this is good

this is not good

we speak of no shades of grey

having only black and white

and our minds relax completely

into vacation

as we graduate to

this is excellent

my name changes to  juan carlos

and melissa's e turns into a long a

we learn slang from a taxi driver

how to say

this is wicked

we learn the words for open

and for closed

from the l.e.d screen

on the safe in our room

by reading the yellow and black signs

we learn what is dangerous

new words enter us

and new words leave us

like the name of the not so ugly

fat-bottomed rats we saw

carrying bright chunks of papaya

back into the forest

we add an afternoon

between our good morning

and good night

we drink micheladas with the locals

and ask how do you say this

pointing at this

how do you say that

pointing at that

and we learn to drop our s’s

so our good nights

sound less like they are coming 

from the pages of a textbook

and at the end

we check out of our hotel room

returning to our infinite shades of grey

and both of us can  pronounce our room number

perfectly.

deiceneuve diez

(un trabajo en progreso…)
  

sólo sabemos un pocito de español
así hablamos como niños pequeños
por lo que pensamos como niños pequeños
esto es bueno
esto no es bueno
hablamos de ningún tonos de gris
teniendo solamente en blanco y negro
y nuestra mente relajarse por completo
en vacaciones
como pasar a la
esto es excelente

mi nombre cambia a juan carlos
y e melissa se convierte en una larga a

nos enteramos de la jerga de un taxista
cómo decir
este es perveso

que aprender las palabras para abierto
y para cerrado
desde la pantalla l.e.d
en la caja fuerte en la sala de
mediante la lectura de las señales de color amarillo y negro
nos enteramos de lo que es peligroso

nuevas palabras a entrar
y nuevas palabras nos dejan
como el nombre de los no tan feo
grasa de fondo ratas vimos
llevar trocitos de papaya
de nuevo en el bosque

añadimos una tarde
entre nuestros buenos días
y buenas noches

bebemos micheladas con los locales

y preguntar ¿cómo se dice esto
señalando en este
¿cómo se dice que
señalando que

y aprender a bajar la s de
por lo que nuestra buena noche
sonar menos como lo vienen
de las páginas de un libro de texto

y al final
que visita de nuestra habitación de hotel
Volviendo a nuestro infinitos matices de gris
y los dos de nosotros puede pronunciar nuestro número de habitación
perfectamente.

for the woman in the short black skirt

   

dancing alone in the carpeted space

behind the last row of folding chairs

at the michael jackson dance revue

at the playa del carmen resort

who had enough tequila last night to forget

that she had no real idea of how to dance

her legs spread apart on the floor

stalking from side to side in wobbled jerky steps

waving her arms and body around

even when the music stopped between numbers

and the performers changed their costumes backstage

shedding their thriller zombie rags

for something more formal

she kept gyrating in the silence

but had enough focus to see

that people were watching her

and enough sense to tell

that people were judging her

she turned to a group of us

and slurred loudly

as she continued to move to the rhythm

she had found in the distilled nectar of the agave plant

drawing out all of her syllables

telling us that we should all be dancing

that dancing was a beautiful thing

and it felt wonderful

and continued with a few other unintelligible things

as everybody moved back away from her

just a little bit further

towards the back wall

the mexican dancer playing michael jackson

stepped back onto the stage

a fedora placed low on his head

and microphone curved

from his right ear to his mouth

she turned back toward the stage

and the next song began

and she continued to move without grace

dancing to a beat that nobody else could hear

her movements were awkward and random

in all the standard ways

that american too drunk on tequila girls move

it had nothing to do with the music

it had nothing to do with michael jackson

it didn’t flow

it wasn’t gainly

it wasn’t smooth

but as the performer on stage

struck that iconic michael jackson pose

his head angled down

so we could only see his mouth
with one hand on his crotch

his other hand in its white jewel encrusted glove

stuck down and out to his side

i glanced back to the woman in front of us

and it wasn’t pretty

but i knew that she was right

it was beautiful.

anisoptera

   

- for rollin everett
(i can't think of dragonflies without remembering you)

i used to think of writing

as chasing after something fleeting

like a rare dragonfly i needed

to capture in my neural net

put pins thru its wings

and frame it under archival glass

but after all these years

it has become something more serene

more patient and abundant

they surround me constantly

and all I need to do is hold out my hand

and one will light on my fingers

see how it waits so quietly there

not even twitching its transparent wings

while i describe it to you.

          Photo used under Creative Commons from Joi

a la izquierda

    

sitting on the end of the pier with you

on the western coast of cozumel

our legs dangled over the edge

a half drunk black russian by my right side

and a watery mai tai by your left

we watched the fish glitter by beneath us

and talked about our past loves

mismatches missteps and grace

the one who ran away from you

into the woods of abilene kansas

knowing you would run after him

and catch him

and then he would propose

the one with a kitten-shaped hole

in her heart

who told me i was careless with mine

and was right

and others who were right

about other things

and wrong about still others

and though there were so many

stars in the sky that night

and so many fish in the sea

my attention kept coming back

to our shadows

and how they were cast onto the water

by two lights above and behind us

in the corners of the thatched roof

one showed our shadows off to the right

outlining the shapes of our bodies

with a slight gap between them

in darker shades of grey on the blue

the other bulb sent another shadow off to our left

and that light was stronger

and because of its angle

and because of its brightness

and because of exactly where we were sitting together

the shadow it cast was much clearer

the contrast at our edges was much higher

and it cast our bodies as one single shape

sliding gently over the waves

and out into the ocean.

four months and three days

  
today while packing

for our trip to cozumel

i opened the small wooden box

in my closet

that holds my watches

tie bars cufflinks and passport

and sitting on the top tray

coiled up and off to the right side

was mingus' collar

a strip of blue nylon webbing

with a blue anodized bone-shaped name plate

a round silver rabies tag

a purple heart award for bravery when neutered
with most of the purple worn away

and a few short white hairs

stuck into the fabric around the buckle

so little

and so much left behind

on the modern study of galvanism

   

this year my birthday

was stretched out over two weekends

and a week in between

as we do when our plans get grander

than our time or resources

and a single day is no longer enough

and on the last weekend of my birthday

the presents arrived

a glorious stuttering train of surprises

involving much closing of the eyes

so they could furtively pass by

from one room into another

before being officially unveiled

and with the stretching of the event

we ended up teetering on the ledge

of february 13th

and my basking in the me-ness

was pulled by the carriage return of monday

and dropped into the red heartiness

of valentine's day

and in the same way you had considered

hanging onto one of my birthday presents

for this other event

i realized too late

that the words i wrote for you last week

would have fit this day so perfectly

and the drout of the worry

and the worry of the drout begins

and so i turn to the things you gave me

last saturday night

and consider each one as a metaphor

i can use to court the rain

and make that perfect smile of yours

bloom in the mid-february sun

the suitcase seems least possible

with its imagery of leaving you alone

it sitting on a luggage stand by a closet

in a courtyard by marriot

in some small midwestern town

though the way its handle reaches out

to hold my hand

as we wander through the airport

is touching

and the swiss logo with that silver plus sign

floating in the small red square

has some potential

the boldly pink and black Countess Mara tie

the one that could have stretched between events

if i hadn't been there with you

shopping with you to find the perfect one

it could work well for this piece

but as i delve further into its provenance

i find that paisley is sometimes known as

"persian pickles" by american traditionalists

and has many other botanical and dynastic references

and none that tie back as well as i want

into the knots and facets of this day

the peanut butter chip chocolate cookies

you baked for me at your parents' house last night

are a tempting option

representing the fusion of your culinary skills

and your ability to take the tastes i love

and create a recipe

that is at once my favorite cookie in the world

and is similarly working its way into the hearts of anyone else

who has been lucky enough to have one in their mouth

but of course the best option is the single rose

the red rose held in a skeletal hand

the red rose whose stem intertwines 
with the ribs of the skeleton

on the numbered and signed lithograph

FRANKENSTEIN by David Lance Goines

for a January 21, 1984 showing

of the 1931 movie at the Pacific Film Archive

how could you be anything

but that rose to me

the way you nestle into my chest

surrounded by all those bones and pistons

cams crankshafts and hoses

ribbon

   
i tell you one night
that we are rocks in a stream
pushed up against each other
and each and every single one
of these great unfairnesses
that enters and exits our lives
the people dying too soon
being sick too often
being unavailable
being sad 
being broken
these things are random currents and eddies
jostling us around as they pass
moving us upon each other
grinding us together
wearing us down just a little bit more 
but making us fit 
even more perfectly together

and i think i have come up with something
so poetic and profound
this way of framing 
this particular thing
that is so meaningful 
that it gives both of us
some new insight into who we are
and what we mean to each other
and how it all works together

and then 
you

in one moment
you digest what i have said
and you look straight into my eyes
and you do 
what it is 
you have done for me every day
and every moment of my life

you take 
what i think
is a completed thought
and you add yourself into it

and you are there 
standing next to me
looking at the same two rocks 
in that same stream
that i am imagining are us
and you say these words

these words
that are once again
evidence of your superpower
these words that are a shimmering silky ribbon
on the package that was simply an image
and now is a gift 
we are giving to each other

you say
"and the water makes us shiny, too!"

halo

- for melissa

in my post knee surgical vicodin tainted dream
i was a spartan
campaigning in a game of xbox halo reach
standing in the middle of an open area
of the sword base courtyard
surrounded by grunts and jackals
with 2 elite generals advancing
from under the bridge

i was paralyzed
stock still in place
my sleeping body flinching
with every direct hit
from their plasma pistols
lighting up and depleting my armor shield

and at the same moment i realized i could not move
i felt your hand on my chest
and looked up to see you standing there
resplendent in a bright red armor set
a plasma repeater held out in your right arm

you walked casually around me in circles

gracefully eliminating the covenant troops

your left hand touching me the entire time
until we were the only two bodies
remaining standing on the map.

please

i am not sure

if Shamanism and Reiki

are functional concepts

outside the Pacific Time Zone

but i have sampled

philosophies and religions

at each slice of Greenwich Mean Time

looking for One who

(if only i would deliver my eternal devotion)

would take a moment

to gently smooth over
the scar tissue inside my wife

i have spent months

in smaller bits

waiting for prescriptions at Walgreens

reading the latest Popular Mechanics

in the chair by the pharmacy registers

with the long suffering

$99.95 HoMedics Therapist Select Shiatsu Massaging Cushion

installed on it

handheld control buttons broken

but still workable

with proper application of my Honda key

i have silently repeated this One word

over and over

into the moist hollow of her neck

in the long moments after we made love

begging her fallopian tubes

to open like catchers' mitts

and receive the ingredients

approaching from above and below

i have administered

the maximum dose of my mantra

pleading for the right combination

of follicle stimulating hormone and progesterone

complete and utter trust

and her spotless soul

to make just One flash of light

so small and far away

some small someOne

miles deep in a forest

striking the last match in a matchbook

and gently setting it

just beneath the tinder.

because it was the way we wanted him to go

in my dream this morning
when you were more awake than me
you heard me making noises
trying to stop something from happening

we had been walking with mingus

on some rural gravel road

when he saw a rabbit in the distance

that needed chasing

we watched him running at top speed

body leaving mind behind

jumping over a dry creek bed

and off through the trees

as i started to move after him

shouting his name

you tightened your grip on my hand

tightened your arm to keep me with you

and i relaxed by your side

both of us silent and unmoving

looking at the point in the distance

where he disappeared.

pack rules

it was you
who taught us the importance
of keeping the pack together

you who would wait at the front windows
when it was time for us to get home from work
you who would leave me once i was settled
to go wait at the window again
for melissa to arrive

when your senses
started to fail you
you would leave the room
with both of us in it
to go look for us
in all of the other rooms of the house
sometimes camping out
outside the master bathroom
if the door was closed
thinking melissa was still in there
and waiting patiently
until we realized where you had gone
and got up to find you
and bring you back

and now that you are gone
somehow all your searching for us
in those last few weeks
when we were right there
makes a perfect inverted sense
as we continue to look for you

expecting you to come running up to us
as we open the door into the house from the garage

turning around in the kitchen
holding out an almost empty casserole dish
that needs your attention

and waiting to hear the click of your toenails
coming down the hallway
every night
as we get ready for bed.

the kind of dog

we always joked about
how you were not the kind of dog
to run away

you were the kind of dog
who if you escaped from the house
without us noticing
would never leave our unfenced yard
and would be back at the door minutes later
scratching on it to be let back in

as you got older
we talked about how some dogs
know they are dying
and if given the chance
will walk out into the woods
and simply lie down forever

we didn't think you had
that kind of instict
but the last day before you died

you went out your dog door
to an area of the back yard
i had finally fenced in with chicken wire
a few weeks earlier
and when you didn't come back in
after fifteen minutes
melissa went out to check on you
and you were lying down in the grass
at the far edge of the fence
completely asleep

when she told me
she had found you there
like that
i imagined if the fence hadn't been there
you wouldn't have either.

in case i needed to explain this

in your last year
that we did not know would be your last
only knowing that you were officially old
we would set aside a day every month or so
and that day was simply for you
it was a day of giving you
whatever it was you wanted

those days were filled with dentabone treats
the pack taking long walks outside
shorter and shorter sessions of fetch in the backyard
letting you outside as many times as you wanted
and sitting on the back porch
watching you take your nose on tour
around the perimeter of our yard
and on the colder days
hours of napping on the couch
nestled between melissa's legs
and covered by her pink snuggie
as she studied

after your seizures started
and the cancer diagnosis was confirmed
every day became one of those days
every sunday morning we put
boneless skinless chicken breasts
into the crockpot along with
whatever vegetables we thought
we could trick you into eating

and melissa
who you had taken such good care of
never straying from her side
over the many months of her sicknesses
returned your favors so elegantly
packaging you on the couch
with a turquiose colored pillow
under your chin
and a blanket draped just so
across your body
always knowing
if you wanted your head covered or not

as your coordination faded further
and after you fell off the couch
and onto your back without a sound of complaint
you were wary of the altitude
keeping instead to your bed on the floor
and melissa would get up to rearrange your bed
and re-blanketize you
more times than anyone could imagine

in the last few weeks
these days of giving you
whatever it was you wanted
became harder and harder for her to take
and not because she saw so clearly
the increasing slope of your decline
not because you would get up from your bed
every five minutes
dig at the covers
look at her and whine
not because she had to get up
and help you get settled again

not because you needed so much

what tore at her the hardest
was simply that she couldn't figure out
what it was you wanted

what hurt her the most
was not being able to help you.

requiem for mingus the whippet

the afternoon
after putting our whippet down
after 14 years together
after a short escape to the coffee shop
you were in your car
still in out driveway
performing some necessary email
or message on your smartphone
after dropping me off
about to head out on
just a couple of more errands
on our official day off work
day of mourning

when i saw you still there
i called you
and told you to come inside
and make love to me

because i learned from mingus
how to ask for what i want
and how to be a better animal.

how it always ends

this is how it ends
how it always ends
my hands on your hipbones
your hands outstretched into the air

the first part of the dance is spectacular
and the middle part is sublime
and each is different every time
i mean
i am sure they are
but for the life of me
i can't remember any part of them

the only part that is left
beaming through my memory
is what happens
in the last few notes
as you can tell the song
is winding down
and there has to be an ending

the lights fade out on me
and the only illumination
is one sharp edged spotlight
surrounding you
as you move slowly
towards the front
of the stage

then you start to move faster
running like you have no idea
the floor beneath your feet
is about to run out

and just as you reach a point
a few feet from the edge
you leap into the air
stretched out into a perfect swan dive
and as you reach the highest point
on the very last note

the point
just before you would naturally
begin to descend
you feel my hands on your hipbones
and you know then
once again
i was moving along with you
every single step of the way

you know then
the echo of your footfall
was mine

you feel my hands on your hipbones
supporting you from underneath
lifting you along the same arc you started
but higher
until you are suspended
directly over my head
the spotlight streaming into your eyes
the last note fading into the distance
your arms spread as wide as your smile

a smile born of knowing
this is how it ends
how it always ends
knowing every time you leap
into the bright darkness
i am there to lift you higher.

"i will die soon, but i am comfortable"

- mike everett

dear uncle mike,

my mom told me

about how you loved to sneak

out of the house
when you were young
dressed only in your indian loincloth

and looking for adventure

and now, soon

i imagine you will find yourself again

in your young lithe little body
slipping through your bedroom window

of your parent's house

landing lightly in the grass
and running off silently

into the cool night air.

depth of field

i think of my father
when i look at any picture
and notice where the photographer
chose to allow the details through
if the focus was close
and the background details
are blurred away
when i look to see where the choice was made
what details to show
or if the artist must have used a tripod
to use a long enough exposure
to get everything
at every distance
as sharp as mechanically possible

i think of my father
when i tighten screws
on the switchplates in my house
and how he told me
so many years ago
that lining up the slots in those screws
was the mark of a true craftsman
the go/no go gauge of quality

i think of my father
at family dinners
as we talk after the meal
and how he lines up his placemat
his napkin
his water glass
making parallel lines
and equidistant arrangements
as we speak
and i know it takes no thought
it is absolutely no distraction
from our words
it is simply the gestures
of a patient zen master engineer
practicing a slide rule
kind of mindfulness
making everything right
with this small world set in front of him

i think of my father
every time i feel a torque wrench
click in my hands
partly because he gave me my first one
a long beam type for use on
my motorcycle rear wheel axle castle nut
and actually my last one too
a tiny quarter inch drive
for setting allen screws
on carbon fiber bicycle parts
but also because that click says to me
the same thing it has always said to him
this thing
this one small thing is perfect

but then
to balance it all out
and to develop the clearest
highest quality
most detailed image of my father
i think about how he is also
so strongly moved
by the human grace of the arc
of a perfect hook shot
in a washington university
lady bears basketball game

i think about sitting behind him
at my cousin's wedding
three summers ago in montana
i think about how he watched his brother jim
set his walker to the side
so he could walk his daughter down the short grassy aisle
and how jim made it halfway to the minister
with julie on his arm
before my father had to take off his glasses
to wipe the tears from his eyes
those tears
traveling such perfect
non linear
non parallel
misaligned tracks
as they flowed down
through the features of his face.

a single word

this isn't a poem
about going to the vet
and finding out
that our whippet
has leukemia
and only a few months
left to live

it is about
how on the way home
in the backseat of our car
he moved from one window
to the other
tasting the air on each side

it is about how he stood
with his front paws
on the armrest
between the front seats
panting and smiling
as if he hadn't understood
a single word
the vet had said.

Mingus monsieur l'artiste a encore frappé

Mingus monsieur l'artiste a encore frappé, en disant: J'ai toujours rêvé d'aller en voyage à jouer dans une fanfare, mais je ne peux pas échapper à cette impression que quelqu'un s'est enfui avec mon tuba ... attendez! ... c'est que mon collier ou un coup de main à mon la gorge?

Translated:
Mr. Mingus artist has struck again, saying: I always dreamed of going on a trip to play in a brass band, but I can not escape the impression that someone has absconded with my tuba...wait!...is that my collar or someone's hand on my throat?

from the grocery store parking lot 5 days before easter

picking out the two-tray package of orange-colored peeps
the small solar-powered mechanical dancing flower
destined for your windowsill at work
and the tiny milk carton of mini whoppers eggs
i found myself once again
on the verge of tears
lost in the small world
of all the small things i can do
to distract you
from everything else
that is not so small
so pretty
so sweet.

Christmas Card from Mingus the Whippet

We asked Mingus to pose for a christmas photo for us, and this is what he (after much cogitation, many treats, and hours of angsty whining) created:



The title provided by Mingus is: “chocolate cherry dog danish with festive garnish”

It is an exceedingly complicated exercise to unweave all of the symbolism and contextual implacability coherent and inherent in his vision, but we will attempt nonetheless.

This title, though humble in its intent, only belies the seriousness and depth of contextuality of the metaphors contained therein. The image looks quite tasty, if one fancies whippet pastries, yet also contains an element of danger and foreboding, as if perhaps (against all odds, by miracular intervention) the canine has survived the baking process by freeing his nasal implement. The quantum state he has achieved with this vision creates a definite tension between the polarized options of a dozing animal, and one that has been baked alive into a consumable delicacy. The image gives us no clue to discern the truth, and the lingering quease and unease and modernist questions posed by this “Schroedinger’s dog” cannot be avoided.

The stubbornness illustrated by the animal in either of his quantum states is clearly demarcated by the slight glisten of moisture on the ebony tip of his nose. He seems to be saying, “Witness the indomitable canine spirit!” at the same time he is murmuring, “Leave me alone, for I am currently napping, chasing small (but spritely) bunnies in my dreams.” The bright red, santa-esque swaddlescent coverering, while both suggestive of canned cherries in glaze and of the spilt blood of our Saviour, only contributes to our confusion between dining and divinity. It is an easy conclusion that Mingus means to draw strong parallels between his quantum identities and the birth, death, and eventual rise of Jesus Christ. While this strong symbology could easily be dismissed as pandering and in poor taste, he takes advantage of his humble stature as a faithful quadrupedal servant to man to deftly sidestep any such criticisms.

The silver snowflake ornament on the center of the blanket/filling is also subject to similar parallelisms. While, upon first glance, one simply sees it as a quaint holiday adornment, it becomes clear (once we have delved fully into the Schroedinger’s Christ morphologies and associated zeitgeist) that it also stands as a beacon with versimilitude to the North Star that allegedly led the wise men to the cradle of the baby Jesus. I think at this point it is most likely unnecessary to even mention the dyslexic “god-dog” connection, but it simply cannot be ignored as part of the cross-species-cultural elements of the piece.

In summation, if we were to amalgamate the vast potpourri of imagery and meaning contained in this image, Mingus seems to be saying, “Come witness the gentle rise and fall of the cherry filling as it moves with my humble ribs. See how the universe expands and contracts and yet your dog remains in one singular location.”

Indeed, Mr. Mingus, indeed, the universe has expanded again this year, and contracted and we are still here, pondering what it all means, why animals are so inscrutable, and what we should eat next.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from Charlie, Melissa, and the artist formerly (and presently) known as Mingus.

p.s. We have settled nicely into our new house, Melissa is kicking ass and taking names at her new job, Charlie is still figuring out what he wants to be when he grows up, and Melissa is being beautifully patient while he works on that.

isla mujeres

   

if you were to look

from the front of the upper deck

of the ferry from isla mujeres

to puerto cancun

today at 12:30pm

you would have seen us

over the left shoulder

of the guitar player

fumbling with a 9 volt battery

as he tried to tune his strings

you would have seen my wife

in her movie star sunglasses

and her hair slicked back

lean her head onto my right shoulder

and mine lean over

to touch the top of her head

if you looked closely

just to the side of my left

fire iridium sunglass lens

you would have seen the tear

released from the corner of my eye

and you might wonder

was that tear all that was left over

when our reality

was subtracted from my expectations

or was it simply

the mucous surface of my eye

irritated by the salt in the air

and the speed at which the boat

was traveling.

natural selection

as we were looking

for something to watch on the tv

to calm your nervous stomach

to help us forget your lost breakfast

i saw a peacock display his ornamental feathers

and learned that mice sing songs

that humans cannot hear

in order to attract a mate

walking out to the pool an hour later

a twentysomething guy

with a tribal tattoo on his shoulder

dropped to the pool deck

and rattled off twenty pushups

with excellent form

he stood back up

his wife took off her shirt

and they walked out onto a small bridge

over the lagoon

in their bathing suits

so their friend could take their picture

how magnificent his arms looked

and how chiseled his pectorals

in his perfectly tanned skin

we couldn't help but look

at all those iridescent tail feathers

and listen carefully

to his ultrasonic little song.