There’s not going to be a soul to thank me for these dreams--I’ve kept
I did not make them up
they fly on in
the din of weeping princesses fills this tenement
the lament of the drunk outside
becoems mine
whisky and wine
while I sit--while I lay on my back
naked--tracing shadows alone’
four in the morn--and light another
cigarette

ah--forget it!
you think the writing life is easy
how’s it easy?
No validation
this permanent vacation from the world
anyone else knows

Andn ow again--I know love--which is to say I get laid
and curl up in the widnow
hands wrapped aroudn ankles--to watch the rain roll
down on Reilly Street
I see one man below
--walking slow--to spite the storm
I learn
I learn the secret--life is lonely
No--only some of the time

When you came over the loneliness melted away
you said--you said putting your hand to my cheek--
give me your lonely--your tired--your poor!
thrust them into the door!
And in the dark I thrust them all night
My God! The door was so tight!
I imagine that a world was made in that explosion
I can’t imagine how you held me, my body tossing
the next morning your hand touching--
that spot--that bone--that place on my hip--
your arm tossed over me
your breast there to feed me.

And I thought and I thought
now there’s nothing else
Now--
I am really naked
and she understands me

And the bus rolls below on Reilly Street.