This just in:
I walked back from Baghdad
just in time for the weekend:
I saw eighth avenue torn apart,
careless,
getting her wits about her.
A hunched man in a brown overcoat
across thirty seventh street,
a cart, with a thick, shriveled
black garbage bag curled up in it
trailing.
Oh yeah,
let me see that cracked hope
reflecting in the blacktop like
fucking water, the dirt matches my shade
and the streetlights fawn and wilt
and shine true.
after band practice life seems
approachable
whatever energy you need to
be able to say fuck you to the world
is replenished.
it’s sweat and it’s more
look, my calloused hands touch
asphalt and it falls apart
look the tips of my fingers
don’t give under your teeth squeezing
oh kiss them
where I can feel it
I take your shirt off and listen to your back scratch
against the street, common once again
of us finally again
I kiss your neck and we are at war
the curb looks up your skirt and you know it baby
I have the world with me