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knot meat
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in the shower,
and it always starts with can i stand next to your fire,
the next song, laughing, exuberant the whole time, "where you goin with that gun in your hand"
and it's all bold as love.
the faces of the girls i love
have loved, will love,
have seen, will see,
have heard,
have caught a glimpse
of on the train
or heard talking to their boyfriend
on a cell-phone
and known instantly that could be me
they are spinning to me and from me as like a blessing.
as one who can't play music
is blessed when listening to music
all of the girls have their moment, but you dedicate the final song,
not little wing, because you put down
your pen and forgot to write there,
but it's her, a queen,
and just as the wind cries mary is subtly intricate, as the guitar switches back and forth and back and forth, alternating repeating chords, but played with novelty -
you thread semen out of your penis and it archs, its back overtaking its front in velocity,
and that thread pulls on your back
and your toes,
and you curl
you think, this is the only experience that must be comparable
to being behind that music.
and the shower is still warm, and castles of sand, and angel
are part of the same song,
and it's not often you let yourself go,
but you did,
you could drown as long as the music stayed, was your ward,
took you with it.
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040415
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