A title better than the body -- revisit

Isle of Pines (Youth)

In our youth we were pines,
all of us islands connected
underwater by archipelagos
& si, no está muerto,
está ojust comenzado. Esta
bueno.

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Little is known of the pre-Columbian history of the island, though a cave complex near the Punta del Este beach preserves 235 ancient drawings made by the native population.

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One of the biggest factors is luck.

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In our youth we were pines
on islands. In our youth we were
not yet how we wanted to be, we
didn't know how. I still don't
but I am no longer a youth.

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In our youth we were
inland, made to be another way,
in our youth we were pirates,
the long dugout canoes
of American crocodiles.

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In our youth we were pines,
we were pining,
blooming invisibly,
seeds that require wildfire.

The page

The page is the space where the bone is erased 

and replaced with black ink that bleeds not 

but charts a course of hard life, lived in the Earth 

by tubers & roots. I believe I believe I believe 

in the moon rocks beneath the feet -- in the 

skeletons in her house, in the monkey's 

resting place, unpretentiously hidden 

in the corner next to the palms. 

The marauders of thought are afoot 

and let's not mention that they are slowly 

falling forward, placing one foot in front of 

the other, a run to the place in the park where

the bamboo shoots grow, and everything 

is in its place, sacred and vegetable. 

Laden down like a latent frown turning 

over and into a clown's 

wedding clothes. I opened her bloom

I took note of her petals, 

I planted her rose garden. 

the reef at the edge of the world

the reef at the edge of the world
the inborn impulse to strangle one's
sexual partners. the reef at the
edge of the whorl. the finger waggling,

the hand of God. hand on a Bible
like a rifle positioned downrange.
downwind, unhinged, boxes of wheat
crackers. the joyous sound she makes

in the morning. focus on that--the
girl you haven't met yet, her beautiful
hair and her beautiful body wrapped
around you like flax becoming lace

becoming silk, maybe. everything evolves.
even sentences into paragraphs and
relationships into prisons. business
is who you know, business is ethical

in the American moonlight empirical.
"i am not curious" and i never will
be but i'm electronic like curtains
ne'er shall be. i'm online and incurable

like a virus on the website about Neptune.
you just wanted to learn about the
solar system. the whole world & its vales,
the whole world for sale, wholesale.