decent, kind, pretty,
my wife there isn't
a single thing i care
to hear you say.
sixteen years you
have complained
about my habits.
slowly i let them
all go. what is left
of me, i don't know.
today i beg a
crowded city, dive
bars, sirens, broken
heeled girls on
cast iron beds. go
on, keep the silver-
ware, the pets, the
lawn mower, the
pool. this tree lined
street can go to
hell. i'll crawl
the dirty hours
backwards, find
some sudden
brooklyn
dawn, let it
rain upon me
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