this is the one where I sit
on the roof of your train car, watch
your hands conduct quartets
          with cigarettes
never give back your gloves

I think I’ll hit the past with another
sledgehammer of apology
          slipping bits of stupid in your mouth
tongue sliding / sprucing up the teeth 

I want to want a little less      lest we forget : 

there was a dark field
          two shallow craters
          cornstalks crumpled into a thousand brittle fists 

once      a pale finger touched a pale cheek and        then the other
    I stood there      and still do 

do you mind if I ruin myself with an ending?
there’s just so much noise here, lovers are starting to call it music