That kid on a red motor scooter knows
the limits his desire reaches under
mid-summer maples he won't
remember because his dad
the limits his desire reaches under
mid-summer maples he won't
remember because his dad
maybe an older brother chases him down
riding a little bicycle
screaming obscenities like Fuck
you little fucking shit you
know you ain’t supposed to ride my bike you
get your ass off my scooter and home
before I break your fucking skull in the silence
that follows—though never quite
quiet for day settles anyway like lace
quiet for day settles anyway like lace
thrown over the back of a tattered couch
or the shoulders of an old woman
who won’t say thanks because she’s got
only a T.V. screen and a cinder-block wall
—not even dust floats down but
I expect the one absolute one
day arrives and I too lose
I expect the one absolute one
day arrives and I too lose
this afternoon
lose myself too.
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