If you need to mind me tonight,
come, I’ll be
swaying down on Willett 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 cacophony I’ll awake to,
ready or not.
Fears infinite as charity once believed in,
rocks in empty bassinets,
a little if a lot.
–
If you need to kiss me tonight,
come, I’ll be
drinking there on Willett Street.
Exilic quartets, diaspora-side,
toasting pigeons for what
they never got.