Friday, February 10, 2012



Shove your fingers through your coat
and comb distraction through your hair
stand there blinking in the light
And question, never, what is right

We will stroll downtown at dusk
and strip convictions from each man
Roll and smoke them for tonight
and laugh; they're never what is right

The ladies at these clubs are chums
with dry-clean-only hair and hands
They scorn suggestions of a fight
and mention--never!--what is right

The strains of music pin me down
and lines you stenciled truss me up
Your skin is thin; your frame is slight
you do me--never--what is right

I beg the gods who hint at me
I beg the sidewalks, seize your shirt
"What do you mean?" your eyes are bright,
"there never was a what-is-right."


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