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I offer you nothing
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1 |
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save this poverty,
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2 |
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this idleness,
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3 |
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this listless pressing into sticky sheets,
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4 |
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these faint thrusts made
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5 |
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to drive away
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6 |
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the frustrating hours
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7 |
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of broken things
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8 |
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and antique happinesses.
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9 |
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Come shed your skin,
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10 |
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leave your humid darkness on the door frame;
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11 |
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we will watch wasps walk south across
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12 |
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chipped-paint windowsills
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13 |
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on breezeless, unemployed August mornings,
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14 |
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our pulsing necks still strained,
|
15 |
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our thirsts unchanged.
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16 |
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