Proofs of time machine folded under his arm
The balding promless man wanders through
hushed
tiptoe on the jagged shards of calculus and
will she go out with me now?
Students for a Better
Tomorrow
pack away wood and voices
hoarse from spreading the unblindness
Laughter swelling the horizon
with pictures of the dying packs
Come to our party beg the
blue pink green and yellow flyers
winking tempting some and the chosen
with the promise of love joy and forgetfulness
or at least sex
in the beer strewn stables
And I see manwoman embraced
The clock dies
breakup makeup hookup catchup shutup
And the machinery of the purple heavens …

i am raw
tomato skin thin
ripe
over ripe
mute
leaving
but i won’t leave
the pills
and i’m taking
the broken glass
babies on my back
your words mean nothing
because you know what you mean.