is it true, that at this morning hour
the wives all go to sleep
and the children crying pause
while their fathers slip into silk?
is it true, that when I leave my body
you will be there to wrap me
in the soft tears of grief
before sending me across the water?
there are so many things
i Will never have known,
the machinations of Heaven,
the dreams of Hell –
the color of Love in the morning
substituted for Coffee and Cigarettes.
you can have your Oratory, your Hope –
I will stay cynically shy
just to offset your Demographic Doppler
for Capitalist Depression
where Love was never measured
and I have always been Love.
screaming at low volumes
