and we walk along the rooftops,
perfect in the pointed
angles that describe them.
and hover again
above these angles
and try to catch our breath in time.
how abandoned the house behind the ally,
could we live there in another life?
fix the roof? and meet the neighbors?
cut the tree out through the garage?
laughter caries in on the breeze.
the steeple, even now is standing highest.
and why should it not:
they still drink gas in the streets.
then again the light falls on the doorway,
the narrow porch, with its rail and ashcan,
the stuffed chair that sits in these defiant lights,
obvious to the elements,
oblivious to our fate.
and still I am standing
the news in a song, lodges its way into the lens of the night.
and still I am standing.
in the hour of our needing i was away
but now as always, i wait with you.
this is the circumference of our desire,
the object of our objectlessness, this is the tragedy of our tranquil horror.
thus again we will rise, thus again we will open our mouths to tell the
true and faithful utterance of how we did it just how we planned it,
and how we fucked it all up,
and with the very worst of consequences,
true and lamentful
lives destroyed and lost
a friend shot down at your side,
your gun so hot and the only one with ammo.
why not parade,
why not walk all across the earth and proclaim.
this is it,
i have made it and now I’ll take the most satisfying bite,
not because my abandonment is so wide,
my sense of lust so longing for novelty
or my cruelty is such a well to me,
i draw only from a shallow pool
or i believe in a greater grandeur
for which this one is but an introduction the the care given to us,
no, none of these,
I am your jailer only because I have nothing else.