Months here
become mouth’s
upside-down smile
or like buzzards
torque sweetly into copulation
under cloud-shaped clouds
fingering Balrog’s rush and punch 
while the counter girls spark
we carried you into the basement
so the cowboys couldn’t stomp you
but when we came back
their girlfriends were getting undressed
so don’t tell me
Pueblo’s got us beat
I saw you 
in the bushes
with everybody
that year
palming stress balls 
from the Seven- 
Eleven by Palmer High
nobody’s got us beat
sun tonguing I-25 South
for at least twenty miles
we drove right fucking through it
skull cap with Black Sheep thrum
I try to hoark one
worn fold of experience but
swore they all touched
carving the plants away
with pink Nash 
then skin with
its strawberries
torn off