Anxious for gimlets, the proof of cleansing,
While I lie whole inside, waiting for water
To stroke my arm. If I meant any harm,
Then surely I would be able to breathe.
It is the month of leaving, I am weak.
There is nothing to argue with, no face
To blow smoke into. I will have to fight
With my fate at a less desperate time.
Or at least when my dreams are sweet.
Surely you must know some secret cure,
You've been holding out on me. What is it?
If it's loneliness then I no longer wish to know.
Perhaps a hollow promise, or a different pillow.
Regardless I have no more smiles for visitors.
I am snapping off addictions like limbs
From my little body. My bed like a table
Where everyone comes to operate on me.
They glue together my crushed-glass eyes.
They spread medicine on my wretched thighs.
Worst is you have not come back for me.
I wait with flowers in my dreams, but you are
In the wilderness, where you cannot watch.
Watch me slowly by the hour get better.
Watch me rock to sleep forever, forever.
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