I saw myself a tiger, You said, lamb, instead; I saw myself a dagger, Butter knife, you said.
He shovels his walk Like an old man, Pleased at having Something to do with His hands and mind, Grateful for the excuse To stand in the winter sun And peer at salt-crusted cars.
She sticks out through the sores, Though the room is full of blisters. She seeps through the stench Of the pus-people, Removing the filth bandage, Reviving the gangrene limbs, Restoring two hundred pounds To a bed-ridden invalid.
I swim in her lips I swim along She swallows my movement She swallows my song
He struck Like a machine gun Splattering the plates Across the floor. She sits wounded At the table Of a bloody Battlefield.
There was a moment When I was three feet away When a buddy-check Would have saved the day
I thought we were two through summer, though fall I felt your sting. I tried revival all winter, but I couldn’t survive a thing, and just when I thought blossoms arrived, the skies cried this spring.
I don’t live in the East I don’t live in the West I live in my head And it suits me best