appetite

what    s happening, in the thin street
whatever it may be, he's cleaned up
he's a man now jack, hard and sharpened
but rather what holds him to such ideals
nothing worth, at this time, reflecting on

the awning was yellow, dirty from the long winter
makes me think of her hair, a dirty blonde
in the setting sun she sat facing west
I, east
   the tailbone   pressing the soft leather
      to absorb what could be from the still sleeping
      earth, wet
dirt patched w/ yellow grass, also dirty
what is this if not sneaking
  I stood musing
vulnerable, pouring what jokes I muster
the last time I told someone about FS

if He's really truly dying,
     how can he have such appetite
     to eat chicken wings?

the moon is a bowl this evening
overturned covering a die star
  no one hears the rattling
  nor will they ever be able

I love my small band
of brothers
today it is one of their birthdays
I write Neil a dear note
think about him and his life for a solid
minute or two
a ride again on the 7
the floor of a JC apt
then go back to work

whatever laid in me in yr room
     bit my lip with a mold of yr teeth
   it felt fake, dry, and unsatisfying.