the castillo alhambra a watchful brown ***** on the hill smiling crenellated un der grey-silk skirts of cloud & in wicker chairs mouths —open (talkin’ bout last night’s walk home from vogue) —close (swallow morsels of tapas: paella)
& lips shut ‘round cigarettes.
…
… past inactive fountain where children play their various jeugos next to the riverwall and distrustful, rail-thin cats peer from brickwall dens to watch flitting finches bounce on vines & budding branches. it is very warm; the air is heavy as is the ground. man is stuck between like a roach ‘twixt two ***** mattresses // three girls looking at me writing smoking drinking beer eating that paella don’t know what to think.