He must have been lonely
between the love poems
and the easy women
and the rare
beautifully alive women
between the thighs
wrapped around his head
grinding against his mouth
tight as a muzzle
between the blood
and the beer
and the wine
and the ink
between the bottles
and the *****
and the bars
and the shots
between the wins
and the loses
and the horses
and the races
He must have been lonely
and in love with it
the misery of it
the cheap breath of it
the loneliness of love
and it must have been beautiful
and blind
and mad
and so so alive