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