999 Z40

monsoon fly over
flower flu down
about a blur with smoke
count the walls
count the walls
hands on the smooth
new promises to twist
old hens to abandon
sprinting
sprinting
running around

asked if he can drive
a fan to the face
resuscitation
death too young
psychiatrist groove
just running around
feel it
feel it
felt it

a relic

and then
a kiss
no
not a kiss
missed the target

not a kiss

counted among the right
the wrong
in a pile
filled up
your husband wrote poetry
wartime sorrow
I heard it

bury the beat poets
bury them in their second hand coats
bury them in their righteousness
bury them down

not a kiss
a slip
so far down
canal street
turned
and
discovered

are we scared we’ll be plywood
are we scared we have a low
vocabulary

just missed you
by a hair