head spun, flat here still on the cusp
of recovery, with another year for rediscovery
he finds her slipping in european terms
their conversation with the bite of disgust
anything non-american, blue denim squirm
he is glad his city is still snowy
—I find it difficult, yeh, that from this noise
good words arrive. You feel helpless.
There isn’t a battlefield to borrow from,
neither today nor tomorrow. Alarm the boys,
wake the girls. Learn from the mess
how to position yourself if she comes.
graying insults bleh matters merely decoy
this cold dark morning his beautiful opus plays
so loudly that the static resonates
come friday he’ll still be that sensitive boy
lifting a gloveful of fresh snow to his lips
for the stinging sensation not the taste
