he came to me after hours, forced his way in from
the hysteria of the empty streets, asphalt puddles
and his jaded, sour posture of one
lone, crazed, pitiful dividend.
he complained about the weather; the whether

or not he loved me when not in my company,
or before 12 in the morning, or
after 2 in the afternoon, or
any time at all, really.

despite it, I gave him a moment where
truthfully, a moment was not due and he lapped it up
like a thirsty, rabid dog in heat
drooling and messing all over the receipts,
the IOU’s and the promises he made
just days earlier
to now wipe his festering asshole.

I propped myself up on the counter,
swung my legs a little to the beat
of his monotonous heart.
stared down, as I should, and listened as the lies
made tau-tangles between his teeth
and as, in his memory, I became a reconstruction,
an excuse and another hole
in his box of
teetering, expressionless walls.



when he crawled out of there
I had to keep myself from nudging him along
with the sole of my lead-bellied foot.
there was no point, really;

temperatures were dropping and the rain
was freezing like tiny push pins
in the air.

I knew he didn’t have long.