Au chat qui peche

Lately I've been so pessimistic
Let it settle as drift to the shoulder of softer road and let mend a nerve as it enters—
There were no roses yesterday,
surely they'll appear today/ as soldiers lined up one by crime on my father's empty grave

I'm almost

                           certain    (looked for you yesterday/here you come today)

and I'll love them each and all so steadily like a stubborn piano on the ledge of a commons or total grief in a field of purple indulgent sorrow/ some total elsewhere or else no where shit /

Lately I've been elsewhere or else nowhere, shit, it's been so terrible and mellow like I should care about the way one desire covers for another but it's very inconvenient / to love another woman's husband, better than she ever could and not at all. Lately all the messes feel clean and healing, but before we know to how honor their sweet deranged messages. I tried to resist. I nearly resisted. Lately I've been so real and high on eternity I almost forgot how everybody died but the dealer's mother, how I'm her and what a weird lament and element to remember /he left me/all these records/and a reckless craving for sun   like  in Battle of Algiers    the inevitable people can abandon their own hearts and still survive in them like visitors