open up till midnight
the butcher waits for someones desperation
that goes beyond control

speaking is an invitation

under fluorescent lights

you cant wash out his desire
where bodies are indecent
and they are not in decline

from behind the counter he thought you whispered you want more

cut out the brights of the oncoming cars on the highway

lightness is forced when you cut out the lines in the paper
cut the split seconds
the ones over-filled

when you thought you were caught with unknowable thrills
instead you get absence
soft haze in the face

the lines in your head have to all be replaced

cleave the dry stone to a promise

that an answer soon will follow
grave attention is still focused
on the flashlight and the cold fortune


down the streets on prospect
the butcher walks home

orange in the streetlight
even knows it in the dark
proves it with his eyes closed


he puts his red coat downstairs
goes up into his bedroom

undresses and folds his arms
as if it could impress you
from under the covers he thought you whispered you want more