He’s the
stoned kid in
the
hustlers backpack,
giving cards
to violence
because
that’s just
the thing
you do.
Take that
body as the
largest
collection of Matt
landscapes,
and remember
to say his
name, always,
out loud
when he comes.
The thought
of today didn’t
come to me
in exactly the same
way it did
yesterday, but then
again, I
wasn’t so made of fear
as I am
now, hearing the horn.
It’s easy
to piss off an old guy
who always
waves his hand
at you,
crowing in a voice that
sounds like
death dying, even
when you’re
just crossing a street.
You part
your proof as you do
your
hair: straight, but slightly
to the
side. You saw a great ass
and you
called it bad, but that
was just
because he wore cool
sunglasses.
