Monday, August 12, 2013


I don’t remember the argument from last night,
what caused it.  I like science, the little I understand,
but I like the idea of the soul too. There’s the delightful
shiver that accompanies pissing outside at night. 
Shooting stars. Five of them. I’ve never said,
“Chris, are you ready?” and then shot
a helpless young man five times in the face. There’s that.
The old words are best: gnash, knot, troth.
Overcast now.  My wife's laughter is lovely.
Tonight it’ll really be something.