I live to linger in the late hours
clutching my talisman to my breast
(the bottle that is always full to me)
The anthracite evenin' is my armour.
Of late, the most curious thing has happened
(I dare not call it by name
because that is the surest way for it to disappear)
Roots take time to catch hold of the loamy soil.
She is pure and sad and beautiful
and many other things
I want to soothe her ailments
and hold her coat.
There was a man with a heavy pack
The straps dug down deep into his shoulders
He carried his life inside of it
When he put it down, he was free for a time.
We should dance wild in Loyola hallways
and kiss like our lips are made of oxygen
Come and inhabit my bed for a week
I can cook great fluffy crepes.
Some things creep up on us like vagrant waves
Completely random, like phantom gusts of East Wind
Personally, I don't resist the weather
I move right through the atoms like a renegade electron.
Be forewarned, my hands are thin typist-things
and I am a sporadic fuck-up, but I mean well...
The inside of your mind must be a carnival of dreams
I want to spend the day with you.