I have gone too far.
I just saw the face of defeat two times,
then chunked a deuce, turned street,
made rubble, across the spectrum,
of nasal sameness, of the same ol’ shit.

Gray morning, gray love, I’ve seen you again,
flutter across the square, running from me,
linger and halt the uvular motion,
it’s all you do and all you need do.

Whether in verse or in vita I’m real,
or some shit, according to Keats
rendered crude by our need to seethe and rage,
where the wall is empty, just look harder.