Saturday, March 7, 2009


I think I am only mad at night
wild and imperfect
lounging hungry and lonesome
too full of howl and coney island
waiting to
burn and burn and fall
out of beds left blazing and useless and sudden
finding other ways to settle this score
a boxing ring circus
Allen and Jack leaving a bread crumb trail for the devil
standing shivering speachless and slouching
a pound of flesh in the palm of a quaking hand.

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