Tenderness, I’m not used to your charms
I come to you slowly, I am cowardly in the face of nausea again on a bus ride / right after noon
then on to New Haven and its Californian ruins / runes
The research beyond the surface of the dearth
the silt and the shrapnel caught in the handprinted clay of the dirt
And innocence / in a sense I can’t earn all this worth:
arrows and gunfire in the tenderness of the earth!
Emptiness, I’m not sure of that harm
(I got a new shirt it’s a little large for me)
But in a sense / innocence, there is comfort in the used?
I’m not taking part of it, it’s a bluff it’s only a ruse