the days are rags stretched out before me
tapestry of discarded fineries
and his teeth—his teeth are bared
eyes leering up at me from where he bites her neck
i wonder idly what composes broken men
what are the contours we could thus describe
a nightmare forms around the words
now you know how it feels—i do, i do
i already did but this fresh cut burns deep;
what is the line between cowering and cows
and what’s a steer to all those stallions?
every second closes up the pasture into pens
and days loom heavy dull and dangerous overhead
—all of it in dark neuroses, imagined hells
the look, the eyes, her frigid voice
only tantalizing unexistance
a thing to mourn in happy times
when i am sad but don’t know why
9/17/23
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