for gilbert

he wanted to hear me

read a poem before he died.

so i recorded the one

about sunset magazine:

martinis, e-z recipes

saigon pussy.

fighter jock haircuts,

chrome tail fins,

and picasso.

where the sun

never falls,

perched forever

on the cusp of night

with the clink of ice cubes

and a pack of

marlboros.

i called him an asshole

so he'd feel good

because he could always

find the jewels in the shit