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Washing Up

When the sun rises up in the throat and the body politic

Convulses in plain view, will you still love me then? Yes…

Drifting somewhere I came home and missed you, this is

How our days travel, washing against each other, uncoordinated.

I hear the voices of angels in your slavery and the devil

In your mastery, opening your heart to peer inside

At the batteries and the wires, figuratively speaking only!

Don’t you understand, I love the way you cross your legs

And stare out the window in Astoria

Where you’re reading about the drear politics of men

And women in the hard games behind the scenes.

Lately it’s hard to want to pay attention to them but

The news is everywhere and we are slaves. Anyway

You bring it your personal skepticism like a knife through pork O,

I wish you were here, washing up in the bathroom with me

Enveloped in the darkness that occurs before sunrise.