If you need to hold me tonight,
come, I’ll be swaying down
on Willet Street.
To a merciful God you won’t believe
in, language I’ll conjure from
memory, on the spot.
–
The unknown faces you don’t believe
in, a melody I’ll awake
to, ready or not.
Fears of that infinite once believed
in, rocks in bassinets,
a little if a lot.
–
If you need to kiss me tonight,
come, I’ll be stinking there
on Willet Street.
Exilic. The a capella lullaby,
toasting pigeons for what
they never got.