A whining rottweiler
By the tracks
A freight train
storming
crashing the night
Like thunder
He's snoring
My face is warm
From drinking strong
Japanese beer
3 hours awake, feel like i
Haven't slept in a year
And i want something more
Than a gentle touch
His hair is thick and
Black
His sweat bitter
His scent sweet
Fiji deodorant and ****
My face
Is warm and hot
from nicotine
Too much Japanese beer
My body is hot
I want more
Than a gentle touch

The emptiness
Stretches wide
In the pit of me
In the pit of the night
Cracking open a second
Bottle
Of wine
I want something so badly
I squeeze my fists hard
So hard
To subdue it
To soothe it
It doesn't come
It doesn't come
The dragon stretches
Its long neck
The raven its black
Feathered wings
Why do I need something
So *******
Badly?
Myself high up on a barstool
Bait them
Bait them in
Give me them, pull them in
I want them
Teeth and nails, here's
The skin
Of my shoulders, my neck
Something alive
Slightly stinging
In them
In me
My heart is singing
Up there high
On the barstool

Feel like I'd like fishing
Sitting there
Alone
On some body of calm
Water
A little rowboat or
Canoe
Early in the summer morning
Listening to the birds
Rise and the golden light spread
In the sky
Leaking through the
Willow trees
Sitting there
All day
Waiting

Feel like I'd like fishing
Sitting there waiting
Been waiting
Everyday
Anyway
Been waiting
For something
To come
To happen
My whole life

Been waiting
For an answer
Might as well
Wait for a fish to bite.

in each shattered fragment
of time
we are forced apart

there is nothing of me
that does not cry out
for everything of you

We didn't quite think it through,
did we now?

We just pushed that harrow
even when the fields were underwater.

Now the wires bring us
the yes-no grammar of old love.

Lewd sun, cloud-tumble,
violets dying in the loam:

images lashed to the lens,
the loom, the wine-weave

of the eye... well,
we held on for a while.

Lovers’ shadows cast on alley
Brick walls
The night whining
The street lights trembling
The cobwebs glowing
The beast asking for me
Like a serenade.

I still mark your birthday
on my donation calendars,
you know.

Now I'm publishing
fractions of you
from 21 years ago...

But you moved on.
You drafted another
in my place. That's ok -

I'm here to tell you
that although every angel decays,
you have decayed slowest.