i have always run
with my hands cupped
to the boys who have not fallen
but fled
from the nest

i'm always staining the knees of my jeans
threading my fingers around the shattered parts of them
collecting what i can

degenerates and low-lifes
bad smelling cars and big convictions
nervous voices and hyper fingers
dead parents, dark stories
their despair, their careless cigarettes out the cracked car window,
with their weird teeth ***** hair
i can understand my purpose
a void filled

i always take them out bowling or something-
out drink them in whiskey,
out wit them in pool halls,
dive bars, black beaches
the formula is spotless

as soon as they surrender
and the careless foot slips from the tightrope
the brink of love leaves their mouths in words unwanted
my syrup hunger to solve and serve
is sapped back into the
heart from whence it came

my fingers recoil and i
lay em down gentle in the night- wish em well
slink away with collarbones street lit
starved to find the next