like a Mahfouz I'm in an alley who couldn't
have made
more tragic nor more weightless, (end-
stopped with
death or just plain heavy to its dull core),
young bearded
muscle-head with his pop in hand, aural
or his spectral girl
that me a poet had been happy to draw one
beat nearer,
or bear like the childless guy who dust
will die with but
as the eye is quicker than the pen, Chantal
skipping rope and
tall fools grown slowly into big daddy gut
so it's no surprise
that girls, stockings torn down one cute leg
pick bad boys to wise
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