“FORGIVE ME IF I WANDER A LITTLE THIS EVENING,”
my vassal hands
quiver against a
steering wheel not
journeying to you,
no token of glove,
of —-, of favor in
this day & etc…
how I would die
for one hour—for
what is in the
world? … and
it worked and
it didn’t and I
am weak with
weeks, sunsets
I would lend you
eyes for, the falling
reds, oranges embrac-
ing the earth, before
Black absence hides
upon the past / I
quite forget thy face.























