I’ve crowned
the rapt anole egg, drop

of spit and gloss
of flawless grapeskin—

sanguine-cinched, 
I’m weathered by weather

as such: blows of citrine,
then mustard, 

jaundice. Behind glass
I’ve seen plumbers swishing

dipwads, spurts of white
hair on their nipples. 

I’ve watched my neighbor
cry like miles

of busted frogspawn
when his dog broke

the strain on her collar, 
got lost. Are we ever quite

surprised by the pop-
lust of a glut mosquito? 

I’m like Fine, 
drop your hot

needle, go berserk
with the blood

that made my bad dream
of cobblestone streets

flooding with burst pipes
of acrid pinot gris—

I jumped across
and made it in one piece.