After his stew of suckling pig, slow cooked
in a red-wine sauce, his one eye of an Inuit hunter
observes through his window of deceit
the dead poet Lorca coming back.
Seventy-some-years old ...  [+]

His world speaks to him through the windshield:
one crack dividing his before and after
of alcohol consumption and love for a woman.
The deer caught in his headlights turns to say
you can ...  [+]

No sun today, the rolling choppers bent on their tempest,
and that great graveyard of water never
gives up its dead. A man beholds the suffering
in a flooding hatch, sees his fate suddenly ...  [+]