Days of Wet Orion
The party starts in one hour.
Look for me under the tulip tree.
A little ship needs but a little sail.
Yellowish vertigo,
spout of angels,
raw rum
and sudden noons.
With directions worthy of a cook.
I knew by that
way we got of losing
everything.
We could barely stand
the night’s glare.
To carry two faces
under one hood.
Beggars would ride.
Children to bed
and the goose to the fire!
I knew.
Someone was putting her up
and buying her clothes and stuff. I met her twin
on the corner—you know about that.
