decaydelay

in the basement building the father with his son
who sleeps touches his cheek adjusts the strand
of hair on his frehead and proceeds
to tell him his future as he dreams how he will grow old
and his bones will be dust but fulfilleda nd how
there will be statues and also how he
will fall in love and how the palpitations
will dictate a course -- also he will speak
of sunsets the sun sleeping in the ocean and he will
speak of the future in uncertain terms because this a world of earthquakes and he will talk about the love between men and how tht isn't to be neglected for the way
best friends will drop off cliffs--hetells his son all of the lesson
he learned watching his father cast stones into the water counting the times they skipped. when the boy woke his father had gone.
this sort of thing always ends in death
love
sex
etc.
et etera

but in the city after is has rained there is amist
that mornign adn the rain is caught by the sun
and surrounding my head is a million tiny
glass pieces and prisms and i wonder if the poetics
of the situation are appropriate because if i had
an apartment it would be a basement and if
i met another peot in a coffe shop i would call
him a fool because he gave up love for a muse
and what is a muse anyway but something
that a junky wants and who can give youthese
sort of answers anyway.

the real question fo fate lies in the decision to
swallow one's gut. to enfold in on oneself.
to engulf ed in a black hole. the city itself.