keeping saint monday

you can always hide in the idea
that no one cares
kick around the desert
waiting for some chin music
to come make it new again
when i think of the years
i think of a line across a page
to erase history & any love
that could gut a house
for good reason
my cold mouth in the wind
like a kite
as i return to work, park
under same hard shadow
where the ear of an organizer
got sliced by ambition
or the police, hard to say
though it’s understood we should
just accept reality, ronald reagan
& mickey mouse are the same
after all, your kids will turn out
fine, unraped & voting
for the rich in the dark
the good life won’t stop
for anyone
there are the tracks
& here is some rope
a rumor of piano
w/ keys of brick
in a cellar
to play for funerals
where we'll finally catch up
& pretend our labor
was our own
so that words are corpses too
& the sermon drones on
canning someone's struggle
like a democrat who won't win
we can play family
until it disappears again
or we can exit the grave
& become something else
just like that, a line across
a page to step over
& a stranger on the other side
to take us in
here, sit down
let me tear this fog
out of your chest