While nothing satisfies, not morning’s
Bleary mirror or the slick embrace at hand,
Consider our mutual jewel an untouching, a pouring
Into sweet emptied arms called worth and habit.
Hey, you there, change of mind, eh?
So, it is these comic-book poses that promise
Softer years, quite bearable as amnesia or sex.
Tough talkers, their brain-pans fried black
From a constant heat, turn out swell
On the boulevard strolling in evening wear.
Appearances being unavoidable
As the urge to keep tuned, even stars
Seems to itch for more, for a squeeze
Of all our drizzling nothings, save time.
Leaning out from this wayside planet,
You witness another life blown like glass
Without pattern or fatuous secret,
Yet a limited edition of uncertain radius.
Presume then to be home, a part dismantled
By continuity; some guiding light
Phasing on and off like an unoriginal religion.
Get far up and hard in the hole
Between dead of winter skies and beyond
Limits of ourselves documented by precinct,
Greeted cordially by scandal. Too soon
Allegiance becomes resistance and otherwise;
Meanwhile, after a holy pinch in the ass
You are often saved and, perhaps, in love.