Year
This Sunday of ice cream cones
the locals cruise for a dime.
Pigeons here or there peck
pretzels thrown down. New
in town I read indifferent faces,
news from Sunday frowns.
Last night's drinks were on you and
old friends. Felt like I had skin again
when a certain rub made me wonder
but sleeping it off on your floor I woke
up screaming, dreaming death with
a bloody nose.
If you wore nylons I could kiss you.
I'm confused. Infused vagrant blood
refuses no stops. Lust cops wait in
dark glasses near darker doors to bust.
I've managed before. Two bitter
espressos and the shakes, bad.
I pack enough clean clothes for
a sidewalk or two. Now I find myself
here in this somewhere floating
toward some shore altogether too
familiar (the dream again) while
families squeal, their cameras
point at Lady Liberty, licking noisily
their cones, an altogether painful
thing to watch and remembering
you naked, too. I've paid my quarter
to get to the other side even if I
get there blue.
Were we talking about rabbit punches
last night? the blank, blond faces of
Stockholm? Which drinks were free?
The dream tells me little except I was
(am) scared and hate this body I'm in.
I'd lose it all but for this one voice here.
Funny, the thought of revival when
one touches another skin. Some
god I've believed in but rarely put
to test. I'm going home to rest.
See you tomorrow. Phone me first.
Sudden moment when the ferry horn blasts:
Someone, some kid, is
crying now. Dropped his
cone into the cold, cold sea.
the locals cruise for a dime.
Pigeons here or there peck
pretzels thrown down. New
in town I read indifferent faces,
news from Sunday frowns.
Last night's drinks were on you and
old friends. Felt like I had skin again
when a certain rub made me wonder
but sleeping it off on your floor I woke
up screaming, dreaming death with
a bloody nose.
If you wore nylons I could kiss you.
I'm confused. Infused vagrant blood
refuses no stops. Lust cops wait in
dark glasses near darker doors to bust.
I've managed before. Two bitter
espressos and the shakes, bad.
I pack enough clean clothes for
a sidewalk or two. Now I find myself
here in this somewhere floating
toward some shore altogether too
familiar (the dream again) while
families squeal, their cameras
point at Lady Liberty, licking noisily
their cones, an altogether painful
thing to watch and remembering
you naked, too. I've paid my quarter
to get to the other side even if I
get there blue.
Were we talking about rabbit punches
last night? the blank, blond faces of
Stockholm? Which drinks were free?
The dream tells me little except I was
(am) scared and hate this body I'm in.
I'd lose it all but for this one voice here.
Funny, the thought of revival when
one touches another skin. Some
god I've believed in but rarely put
to test. I'm going home to rest.
See you tomorrow. Phone me first.
Sudden moment when the ferry horn blasts:
Someone, some kid, is
crying now. Dropped his
cone into the cold, cold sea.
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