Why speak of her again and bang your head

Against the same wall twice? The wall is made

Of sturdy stuff and will not break. You instead

May crack and shatter in a palisade

Of glass and bloody bone; then pity’s light

Will find you, dust on a barroom floor

Again, courting young wraiths you met that night

With purple hair and belly rings, once more

Prey to need’s elusive shadow, dancing

On girls and windows writ in neon glare.

Then you, so bold and free, will be chancing

Sex, or its pale equivalent. The motel there

Renting rooms by the hour, or the night

If you can pay the fee, or bear the sight  

06/02/2003