at the end of the dirt road

litter the golden age

with brass thumbtacks

all over the sidewalks

ignore the permanent tension

you got from the meds

smile at the strangers

swimming ravens in their hair

all along the assembly line

the crackers sip snake bites

pretending to have been born

all cute and shy and kind

in that clearing we came to

at the end of the dirt road

dolls were nailed to the alders

black eyed and ruined

you left something there

the way a sailor might leave

wedlock to burn in a port town

a secret unraveling in the fog

down eternal streets

that pray silently at dusk

I shower maybe three times each week

but my body only wants a wet gutter

it can give itself to

and these days hot water just makes
me regret you