What a shame, you said, holding a match to the bed,
which dissolved like a woman in heat,
these possessions betray me, I hate them.
Your home was in ruins – burned, smashed up.
This sofa will not stay true, nor will 50 pistols,
or a shoe…
You had quit your job, closed accounts, divorced M.
You walked in circles in the desert
because the straight way had proved untrue.
Alexander, I tried to disagree
but lost my hat in the wind.
We can no longer cleave the sheets in despair.
The worlds suffers intolerable hunger.
The world which fed us for years.
They say they see your shadow on the crestline.
I’m coming into the Valley of the Kings,
with wine to tenderize, and 29 prayers.