the words have come and gone,
I sit ill.
the phone rings, the cats sleep.
Linda vacuums.
I am waiting to live,

death wants more death, and its we
I remember my father’s garage, how
I would brush the corpses of flies
from the windows they thought were
their sticky, ugly, vibrant bodies

there is enough treachery, hatred
human being to supply any given ar
and the best at murder are those w
and the best at hate are those who
and the best at war finally are th

I awakened to dryness and the fern
the potted plants yellow as corn;
my woman was gone
and the empty bottles like bled co
surrounded me with their uselessne

I took my girlfriend
to your last poetry reading,
she said “yes”,
“yes?” I asked.
"she`s young and pretty",

he was 65, his wife was 66, had
Alzheimer’s disease.
he had cancer of the
mouth.
there were

when I look back now
at the abuse I took from
her
I feel shame that I was so
innocent,

each man must realize
that it can all disappear very
quickly:
the cat, the woman, the job,
the front tire,

with an Apple Macintosh
you can’t run Radio Shack program
in its disc drive.
nor can a Commodore 64
drive read a file

a girlfriend came in
built me a bed
scrubbed and waxed the kitchen flo
scrubbed the walls
vacuumed