One Night in the Room in New Cross

Teetering over clamped teeth landscapes painted by Van Gogh

He sits in the wicker chair his back turned to me looking out the window saying,

"What does it matter anyway, there's still rain slide gutters gutted misery."

Feeding pigeons salt and free will as if they could take what you gave them and fly with it

go home and die from it.

I don't need to purchase the paper it's Sunday,

And what kind of feeling are you trying to give me by clamping on my shoulders?

Vertebrae will only feel it if they volunteer.

One glance out the window was too long and I saw the woman making something in the kitchen,

and I don't think I should have seen her through the yellow window,

while the dog is making racket because he doesn't know where he is

or why his tail is wagging like that.

One siren pierces the night, one red tower calls for attention and gets none,

because she's a pinprick of sanity in an otherwise passionate sky.

And the thought of leaving has me like the clutch of a predator so strong

it can drag me through the water till I can no longer breathe.