When will these new scars die- br They cannot possibly outlive me, the silent br Unmovable fantasies of a graveyard’s soul: br All the little jewels half remembered in her flesh; br I like to think she will take just one more, br Down in the iceberg earth where the deeper br Parts of trees fish- br I would like to get drunk again and proposition br Her, but now there is a light turned on br And someone is coming down. br I should tell them I am not alive, that she is br Too beautiful to go untouched by me. Even now, br She sings she has room for one more sailor br In her wormy sea, almost as if she heard me stepping br In: that we shared the same mind, or that my soul br Was just a piece of her tapestry- She sings, br No one will remember you, but I will forever keep your br Body unto me; and we will make love under the br Busy fashions of the brighter afternoon above, br Where the traffic slurs and the hearts repeat, as if br Applauding something too great for them to certainly know; br And we will wait for them, and in unmoved exploration br You shall captivate me in your perfumed box that br Is a crib underneath the regular mobiles of ants and rime br Never to be exhumed; though, someday, br If my sorrows flood, won’t you come again bobbing in br The raiment of forgetful atmosphere, making them terrified br Of you once again, but a fine young man utterly ruined, br Cannibalized for my song in tattered pools of shrieking glee.