WYB Outtakes 2

Bon Appetit

Would that you were closer,
that we each could roll over

and beg to be petted, loved,

rubbed & flown over, above

what keeps us planted in dirt.

I don’t mean to call you a flirt.

I don’t mean to tell you OK.

I can’t think of what I can say.

The omens say Bon Appetit—

omens are closer than meat.

What murmurs from Wicker

Park’s main street as we are

up semi-fucking at dawn, city

birds: they portend concrete. 

Fear-Dreary Philly

No little lame balloon-man

whistles far or wee, or even

has balloons. I sit near the

fan, feel like Dante's son
plucked by this city of

dreams into Hades. There's

no way this can be anything

but rote, my hip routine,

& even a fly's anus looks

more succulent. But, what

the fuck. I've got memories.

As I anticipate the wideness

of your limbs, quiet or not,

the shore I stand on is silent.