Stay
the blinker-tart
of cathode television
with liquid gaze and arsenal
of tinted glass
stalk the scene like a cripple
black on sleeves, lyric memory
age laying out
a punch-drunk fighter
gone to seed, tilting the sky
parachute and lonely
"Leonard", he thinks,
"gird yourself for the world
and win her with the record of
your tortures"
dragging
her voice-blanket through
barroom hollows, Ingrid
vice-grip perfect
his head arithmetical
measures the blowjob
range of her mouth
and considers how to make
her a poem.
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