Excerpt
Somewhere a boat is leaking
I don’t know where.
The sailors may be drowning
but I don’t care.
You were away too long
or not long enough.
My clothes don’t fit me anymore
but I can see Brooklyn from where I stand
and the building where my clothes were made.
I’d rather be naked in a leafy glade
except for my shoes playing volleyball
with cheerful pink and ample maids
but I’ll never get out of this world alive.
That was Hank Williams—a bunch of molecules.
I hold my tongue, look across the moon and blink.
You never wrote so you didn’t know
a little colored ball of wool was my heart.
12 flights up I light my cigarette
puff hard and scowl at the river
