Surgeons big drink
Laid on the tile
After the drive here
He wetted his fingers
To take the wheel again
And go back where he came from
The road was long
With a lot to think on
With the music playing
And the crickets everywhere
And the beauty of the moonlight
He considered woman and man
Alone in a room
A room with nothing
Where stars negotiated walls
Out of a futuristic brightness
One that reminded him
Of his slicing
A long trip down the river
Produces the weight of the afternoon
Moving ardently through the deep brown of time
Splashing around in a dingy
That's really a yacht
Moving at the pace of a slow sword
Today was the first day
That he didn't fight with mom
He yelled at himself from the basement
And at the stack of papers
Like he was bleeding in a ditch
Off the interstate
In some unknown part of the country
Chomping at the bit of a particular line
That was irreparable and scary
The sharpness of a fishing rod
Covered in rusty blood
Shapes the morning of drenching
As far as the sky is concerned
Feet are covered in cuts
And the final words of commemoration speeches
Always have to do with money
And the outfit that death wears
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