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