i see nothing in rising
and waking
and stretching muscles
basked in sleep
and if i do submit
i soon again
dream hard
against the rough
duplicity
of
beige
indoor
outdoor carpeting
turning like a bobbing log against the rushing rivers
of mid autumn canada.
there is nothing left to arouse me
save for
the liquidity of starry nights
deep tumblers
of amber whiskey
sweating with regret and violence
a sweet plume of suggestive smoke
which all puts me under again
no place i would rather be