You hated lying in that grave of a body that for so long made
up all the bitter hairs the fruit, the teeth rotting out between your smile, I
hating the way this bed is larger now, so empty there that the thought of mad
ness goes way further than your lost deeds or mine.
You hated the way I grinned, loved there in the dead of night with I and this sickness
missed you so much as to fret and worry and I didn't think to sleep or nod or drink since
deep of that poisin you tend to so deep, its well runneth over
beyond your back gate, the far stoop, out the drive out to where your land ends where
the wood it rots, my heart it rots, the heat it rots it out too, all
the very last sweating part of hatred that I have for anything as
the grave opens wide and I tumble right in, by
your arms only now by your sides (when all I want, the molecules themselves crave to fall right in)
You hated that body of a grave so long, that I started to wonder why I cared and I and if
that tide could ever be beat (I should have fallen right in, swam so out to see) and I
out on the front porch now having to glance back as I walk away and I wondering if
the nails will give away and that timber one day will simply cave on down, inward.
Take this hammer then, see what goodness a head can hold.
Swing batter batter...if only one for park, then try one for the road.
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