tickled by the Kentucky sward
at night we made love
on every golf course
in the county
as Venus throbbed in the east
we drank from each other's mouths
and pumped like dogs
cried like birds
afterwards we tuned our walkmen
to visitor radio
something point 6 FM
and wandered hand in hand
beneath the trees the stars
the breeze
dried us
one night a joke
about cosmetic surgery
turned serious we started cutting
into one another
laid out on the
eighth hole
we inscribed pure math
in our flesh
coins
became crop circles
left scars like rope
infinite forms
of the prairie
tuned
inward