lines

high yellow mondrian
big white pillow curtains
someone to rub your back still straight
don’t think I didn’t notice that

“take the trolley down past those houses”
tulane and back
the rain warms through an aquarium glass roof
miles skip like rocks
“it’s too hot to sleep”
too cool for sweat to dry on your skin

backbones curl without touch
like the neglect of a married man
a smile refusing teeth
coltrane and hartman bitten as if they were food
pause moving to absent
as if the voice you imagined was the weight
of it coming down on your chest
a ride worn intermission
blackilicious on the broken cd player in her room
mondrian without clothes, but not naked
more of a highway headed north and west
wherever is that direction of men leaving men behind

here I like to stop
before the bruising
before wading in
there is a lurking follow-through of start to keep on
towards sleep which you thought was giving in
now you’re sure