Each dull wheeze — half-glass-filling lungs, tarred — records my moments like reel-to-reel tape And the heart is a quivering branch If not a paperweight Pinning will and testament to the desk
That plastic wine “glass” turned out to be glass after all My woman throws me punches with the gentle touch — all the virility — of a little, lonely, old man feeding bread to ducks Then goes to work on the meat of her hand with the glass Damages the nerves in her thumb tussle ensues My arms are covered in blood That two-penny copper smell
sister’s fella has anger issues and wants a straightener Tells me I need a job — Is this not work? If I had Molly’s blessing I’d go to work on this ******* But she’s crying And begs me not to Begs him to calm down I wanted to widow her Her And my bleeding wife