His eyes are hazel
Witch hazel in the bathroom
He tells me stories at four in the morning
Reads my poetry
His too
Says I need a purpose
He's got tattoos
On his shoulders
On his back
He asks me to scratch
In Vietnam
They cursed him
Four broken ribs
He still wanted a fight
In Marakesh
The women wouldn't look at him
I worked in Marakesh once
By the water
Making leather
The smell of fish
Baked bread
His father worked in a bakery
In Philly he said

in one ohh the flightly finister
interjerk’t offorthwith united
unloosed upon the messes
who rains with string
of erring do
believe the ortho doxie

catamount the femail glory
moistens packet interfury
trump-ettes blow
the suction from their barrel oblesk
look slively tortice hand out for brood
scooch the dead **** down
impesh with dis-ire
marakesh the claim to sane
and leak brainoil smartly

for aft andall
whomake it threw
until deadneck cycoil
tweet totell interlie
the diff is how’d it hung
to a peel at the court
for reci-prostate-parity