About men in the off hours
Their hearts want to move, their hearts want a father
How really to forget something you have to forget you have forgotten it
But I did learn from that, how dependable the unknown is and to take notes on the horror while it's happening, and the pleasure, and the wing stabbing me in the clavicle like happiness is what you can get at outlasting the forest, the see-through walrus of practicality, the tactful exasperation, the bait and tabernacle choiresque women who pace it looking for good neighborhoods to raise their wade it the water wade in the water children-- hearts want to stay, hearts want walk off the filth of love like pills falling up in a commercial for rugged subtlety and tentative addiction is what I love most about men in the off hours-- it's not that I think evolution is a gimmick or bitter veteran or even relevant as one by one we walk into clear glass windows we pretend not to see and of the bleeding tendency our heals are touching, the broken souls of our feet compacting like that scene in Cat's Cradle I love so much I didn't finish. Appreciation is so civilized. Just stay in the preacher's eyes. Invisible and irresistible.
