There are those times

those nights

when she sleeps beside him 

she traces things

above her on the ceiling

below her on the bed

when she faces the walls 

drunk among the ivories

like teeth that leave with barely a wink

like teeth that have

forgotten to drink

from the fountain of youth

there are those times 

when bears leave the cave

when they live after dying

for awhile

she braces for horror

hit by an über another

drunk driver to boot

there are things she’s not made for

she may die of old age or

repent with a gun

aimed at her own unsatisfied self

what else

forgiveness in the pointless glory

the father 

from abandoned raves

the mother for her dangerous stealth

they died of lies, the age, 

and poverty’s wealth

the truth has its way with her

she’s the essence of stealth

indulgences nailed to a pitted church door

confounded by spelling

before they knew how

all is now and fancy free

among the cowards and the brave

all is undermined again

in the philosopher’s spotless cave

until and thereafter

when earth loses its way

she may die of old age or drink wine and be gay

 

nyc 4.22.24