FULL MOON ON TOP OF A CHAMPAGNE PALM'S TIP

as we talk

i keep on thinking

who is this man who is talking to me

is he my comrade in poetry?

he is funny and he is hard

he writes too but revises as he says

as often as he wants to

wanting perfection perhaps?

is perfection a good motive to be a man?

or is it nicer to be a man of all the imperfections?

do you wish to insult God with your wish for

perfection?

i keep on thinking and then i keep on writing

aimlessly

firing all my guts to nowhere

and then i stop

i like it this way

aimlessly devoted to

me.