I step up and onto the porch
pushed forward by a force more powerful
than the west wind.
my hand on the doorknob
(how it got there I don’t know
I don’t remember a thing)

The door won’t open, secured by something on the inside.
I pass through anyway, a ghost.
(I hear the sound of organic music
see the grand instrument
see how it’s ivory keys are caked in dust
indented with fingertips, stamped with fingerprints)

The love birds still create their cooing sounds
they must be very old by now
I never let them out of their cage
for fear they might escape, for to
find love elsewhere

Then to the last room facing north
some of my best dreams came to me
in that bed
good solid sleep, what a bed is for
making love with a stranger
who cried at my story
three nights she surprised me
true surprise and just what I needed
to cleanse my mind and clear my heart of
You
she made it easy
had a helpful talent to make me forget You

I gave her a good part of your memory
I gave a good part of your memory to the two chubby gals who double-teamed me, high on hydropnic cannabis I pretended they were you and her and the awful things we did that night cast their uncanny disgusted joosy-joose towards small gatherings of everyone woh let me down, they know who they are

...and so I’m sleeping with everyone of them.
I feel as if I owe them something
maybe a snake and a spider
Burn this with fire
Before The Poet finds it
Before the lying Crow catches on
For the Poet is a liar
and the Poet is a thief
He doesn’t even care anymore

He’ll lose what he loves
silly love birds talk too much
the poet writes no more poetry
He’s traded it for love

LOVE

and the Poet’still not satisfied
he wants to wait and see if his death will sell a few books

But he won’t
His poetry is *****