Being a Man (Part II)

My shoulders are too broad for someone so soft in the head
So riding hoods hide Grimm ivory faces
When I shift by like an unsteady sail
Howling in the wind of my winter coat 

A moleskin notebook in my stiff jeans pocket
Looks to all the world like a an implement of war
Too happy to see the Lomos lit corners of 3AM
In a drunken vignette of shadows

 

Light leaks titter and sidewind in gaggles
Slide coquettishly like pendulous wisps
To lead blind supplicants to
Anodyne stupors in side street wetlands

 

By force of will, I tear away
To depthless pools of fetid rain
Surfaces glowing in incandescents
The better to see me, my dear
The descant my own deformity 

There are no allies
In the contrast of toy camera angels and
De-saturated shadows

There are only lines drawn behind people
To slow to shuffle with changing apprehensions

 

Stiff fingers stuffed in torn pocket linings
Grasp my own hands like two aching spades

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