men who are
for men who
are poor men
who pour mean
meanings into
men and mean
what they forget
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their project
by not having
been by the
way-side west
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had been a
reason for
wanting the
morning, clogged
by a dream
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vomiting and
becoming motionless
again
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then opening
their eyes – apart from
coming apart with
this life
then
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having their sense
in stacks against
one another
- timely functions
and cool sloughs
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the downtown sight
up the Avenue
at night
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I am beaming
apart because
they ream
it out of me
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the men – uncombed –
remind me
of nouns I don’t
ever use
anymore
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myself a noun
proper in the
un-sense
and having had
the being
torn from the
lily of it
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to tell the
response, the
again of it – the
tossed off
public person
who dies
from being,
privately,
a person
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a heavy from
him, a depth,
a senseless point
having nothing
to do
in this place
having been here
many times before
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and from
here
you can see
what’s where
for miles
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