quasi_sean

bar notes on a napkin

I

the funnel
is closed.

i spent dirty
the afternoon
the genius
the ballroom
a spectacle
machine--

laugh.

the callous knock
doesn't work
hands down
for nothing
like innocent.

the bus passes
a stranger
packing &
wander the road
alone.

i'll see you
in a different shadow
than the others
clawing
--fit--
at the homemade
noose

& the Idiot
plays soft
the music
of early morning
suicide
(bloodless)

II

you can
hold
my hand
pull me
out of
these boots
next
to tomorrow
i will shine
at the
bottom of
the glass--

your epileptic answers
are making me shudder
you wear the joy
the Kerouac aftertaste

never once could I describe
disgust
like it is painted
on the bathroom wall
of this palace
where I am fingering
disease
like a doll
while I am strapped
to the clouds
reading the effects
of love
on the heart
that is shattering
in a petrified
hourglass.