Promethean

Splitting a bottle of some unknown wine
with a naked worm
in the middle of day

I rejoice
The bed is narrow
I long for squalor’s relaxation
fantasizing a dirty scene
& mopping the sheets with
an even more dirty rag
Tension in here
Mayday! Mayday!
The books look arranged
& of too many sizes and scales

Somewhere a step
A burglar has found & forgone us
Neighborhood is drunk
My woman desires me

Nothing happens
not even the obvious
but oblivion
Life can be too clean

Success like a screeching of brakes
pollutes the tunnel of my Silence
Thank you
even the dirt seemed a gift,
a continuity underlying
the breaking of leases...