08/11/2016
Another bout of foolishness,
a touch of sweet derangement—
Some sweetly done delusions
for a bitter, troubled head.
Just a case of mental meltdown
With a gentle touch of rapture
At the quietest corners of Picos,
in our continental beds.
Make the inauspicious pages
Of this poorly drafted romance
Into sunken, gilded treasure
Or an emerald in decline.
And when howls arrest you blankly
In the ever-tortured summer,
Do not weep for Picos—
They are merciless and blind.