Snowman in America
It is a white whip travelling through space
and it seeks my mother’s face.
The club is like a 3 a.m. party on the moon.
Mom’s mom is dying today, tomorrow,
while the egret is one-legged in Puerto Rico.
I should think dancing a fine reward for this pain.
I do not know which porcelain uterus is more fragile,
but I will hurl flowers at sea, anyway.
I will sing my songs.
Look at me in the bar feel my heartbeat music
listen I want to be a snowman in
America.