1378

Romeo in chains

barking down the feeding tube

with spit

on the mustache

tearing through sheets

like a ghost set free

lining up the chakras

while thinking of the way

underwear sticks and pulls

hangs on the thighs

and the soft sigh

as it hits the ground

what’s there to do

but drink until he sees god

and he admits it sounds

so goddamn stupid

he wants to take it back

but letters from Spain

stay in the post

for so long

scotch and raisins

I’m not so shy

I don’t recognize

the way you’re frightened

of barks and weak bites

but that’s you

and that’s you

and that’s me

and you think

you’ve fallen in love

with the weatherman

but which of us crumples

at midnight

existential crisis

over mimosas on Wednesday

no

I can’t see straight

and I meant

what he said

when someone dreamed him up