There’s smoke/s/ in my pocket,
and she’s |just like| the other girls,
complex and wonderful, and(, and, and) a delight to be trusted to touch.
and you’re /damned right it’s going to be a cold winter,
but she’s warm and writhing with that passion undulation,
and she looks at me with *that* look.
–I’ve cast off– a thousand ships,
just for tastes of the dream.
you’re damned/ right it’s going to be a cold winter,
‘n it don’t look to be warmin’ any time soon.
Find myself wonderin’ how the ice forms on Mississippi banks,
if it creeps in,
or if the great river just ignores it entirely.
if only,
if only the dream.
{but lighten up, poet,
you’ve braved winter before,
just you ‘n the husky,
‘gainst the world,
way it always was,
way it always will.
ain’t a one got time–
for your two-bit,
hackneyed once upon.
lighten up, poet,
you got miles yet, kid.}
–miles,
–miles,
I sleep.
