two in the morninga moon lighter than iceI eat a piece of cold meatdust the picture in the cornerlike a cat taken out of a chimney aliveI watch all night for the sun
whichever king or malefactorkills a wild elephantthey take his lifelike a never-heard riveran ungoingungrown narrativeof a thing they do in the stickswhen the war is all hereholding us
I slept backwardin a thin framed selfmy hand bledmy book and table continuedall night to exceed memy bed ladenas a full mouthwhat would we givefor good newsfor the poor
in my hands the worldof a beggar who is all aloneand no less than one thousandpeople in the streetI fear every day more and morethe state answering the questionwho is it that the weightof the war depends ona man betrayed to the seafor security’s sakelet me be godfather to a swanand steal a kiss of the night
our water grew better by nightthin and harmlessly sadmy book on mortality hit backI was living in the dangerous part of townI bled hope to ease myselflike a bed full of guns
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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