Poem with Lines Not in Chronological Order

And then I’m dead, and no longer care, anymore than that empty billboard
everybody was using to send babies to heaven and hell in July.
And I had never seen anything so excitable in my whole life,
not even a gilded rat!
And I came into your Trojan bed with the stink of another there.
And you gave me orange roses,
oranges, roses who’re rogues
meaning swallow my confusion.
And you said you would be mine for ten thousand years,
not a single day more.
And I fell for bullshit like this.
And I came four times that first night.
And you said, you can’t kill what isn’t alive
but we were talking about that painting (I think).
And I don’t even know your secret name for yourself, I conspired.
And looking back, it might as well have been
a unicorn. I mean that fucking stupid,
to play riding games. When you’ve never even
seen how a unicorn actually grows up,
how it is raised.

Choosing a Mate

A crow hunts a wife.
He looks in at the old cemetery.
Some girl crows are laughing,
perched on the tombstones there.
He looks at the garbage dump.
Some girl crows are eating there,
using their seductive beaks
to separate rotten meat from blonde doll hair.
He surveys a fast food dumpster from the air.
Some girl crows are shopping and croaking there,
keeping each other girl company just fine.
The crow flies away eating air.
Hard into nothingness of sky.
The world is so deep in loveliness
it is just impossible.

The Moon’s Got Game

Be generous as the moon is with its light.
Give much for a while, then, maybe,
just a little, diminish, night by night.
Then disappear entirely for a while.
And reappear as just the teeniest sliver,
a Cheshire smile. This should turn your lover
to a lunatic, and keep your bedlife
wholly interesting.