Crossing the street walk too slow you I
stealing we don’t
read the same.

You push gums to the bottom of the cup.
Every story is litter then & wax paper
You start

with trouble on cobblestones, pacing and soon
you’re a leopard. I think it has something to do with darkness.
Sheer like bus windows. The lance corporal is ignored
and close to tears. Grizzly bear moves into his house, fixes

that ceiling fan.
Blank stare, a house
with no roof, the crap at the bottom of the pond.
This is not living. The lance corporal weeps.

The corpse, the head,

Lancepesade, old soldier, broken lance. Shore-leave
is more about the sidewalk. You buy me a sandwich. 
I am filled
with roots through me and in me.
Part of your body is made out of rock.
The lance corporal

imagines playing songs (give me your blonde,
pounding heart!)

I am going to finish you tonight 
in this sadness I’ll 

fill you like a glass

There is nothing there
it sounds like black noises bad tastes
my instrumental tongue.