Lovers Night Out

Under the larch­es and lark shit
and the woo they lay down —
a canopy of bad ideas and chuffed promis­es —
Bethany slept and Paul count­ed
the things he want­ed to do
before he died.
Bethany the heart, Paul the vein.
Like Chi­ne­se beryl or blas­tomeres,
they’re cleft and uncleft, twins who mim­ic
twin­ning. They make every­thing
that they believe.
Bethany the anchor, Paul the chain.
After dark, they unfurl and slide
into town. Paul prongs oys­ters
onto her dusty tongue, and she
chirps and licks him clean.
Bethany the mem­o­ry, Paul the stain.

The Aubergine

This is then, when they stepped out, right ?
down the steps from the hotel to the Aubergine –
more like black bruise col­ored,
the con­crete ramp they call the Aubergine
to make being old or in a chair not stink –
and across the Checker­board –
the reg­u­lar board­walk paint­ed black and white
so get­ting to the sand is a game not a drag –
and to the sand. Before this is when
they were in their room for two days
only some steps and the Aubergine
and the Checker­board away from the sea.
This is after the fight at El Patio
and the fire and the red tag on the door –
so you know you can’t live there any­more –
after the first hotel in Carls­bad –
this is Lagu­na, right ? this is when we freaked
and didn’t know if they were in jail
or in TJ or they killed each oth­er,
which she did, him, when they stepped out
and down onto the cool blue gray sun­down sand
after two days in that room with a rock
she picked up on The Aubergine
and the hotel said their room was real­ly clean
and the bed was still made.