Everybody's Love
When a pair of lips murders
Some old song
On its way out, the handle
Laden in your hand out of politeness
And you police your thoughts
Lest they become haughty
Or haunted with the harsh light
In the corner dim
Every nanosecond, like a cockroach
It just keeps twitching
The eternal dying, like a champ...
...it is then, you find, that compassion
Has a reel: the way it unwinds
Each cool weight drags
Out a bicycle chain without a pocket.
Concerts roil in you
Despite not wearing sunglasses
On your way
Into the slippery grip
Of this white tile linoleum
(To buy a pop.)
Manufactured to endure billions of toddlers
The scrape is shallow.
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