Con Max

Max writes about death now
that’s all he knows

bumping knees with moist caves
tree angels sink

driving the streets of Nixon
and Gonzales, Texas oh so long ago

a crest of his mama’s furniture
teenage girls with big jugs (big jugs always in)

his new stories
romance a blonde sixty year old woman

or the splinter of a Mexican girl
in a Westside bar

his old Volkswagen Beetle
brought to life even in death

Culebra Street
still warm to the touch