No tingle where his stinger digs,
just a rivet in the flesh.
O the tin, the triumph, his vinyl in
my clutch, our jive.
All of this in a locked corridor
enjambed against the cornice &
I cannot architect the music
of so much regret. The calcium
breaks against the steeling.
All frames are his skeleton & all slots broadcast
my buzz. Blast this caged apology.
Blast this bloody public fuck.
What is unending. What is unending.
in cellar dark. The hard lecture
What is unending will jangle like arms
arresting each absented fury.