it’s too late, right?
who cares
if it’s a snare
or a hat stand or
a horse or more bland?
is the reason you’re here
in the front row
because you can’t do much more
than desiccate a moment
and then let it go?
it’s a thrilling low, i’m sure
uncharted and bleak
to watch me as i sleep
desperate to recall
a reason that deserts me
seven nights a week
you do know
the sum of
your summer ideals
with your companionist chums
amounts only to some
maybe a tent and a guy with a beard?
back row now, in a field
distributing infidelity
through cellular proxy
burning flags and boxes
which might be what you need, my love
but it leaves me
high and dry
blackfacegeneral 