open up till midnight

the butcher waits for someone's desperation

that goes beyond control

speaking is an invitation


under fluorescent lights 

you can't wash out his desire

where bodies are indecent 

and they are not in decline

from behind the counter he thought you whispered you want more


cut out the brights of the oncoming cars on the highway

lightness is forced when you cut out the lines in the paper

cut the split seconds 

the ones over-filled

when you thought you were caught with unknowable thrills

instead you get absence 

soft haze in the face

the lines in your head have to all be replaced


cleave the dry stone to a promise 

that an answer soon will follow

grave attention is still focused

on the flashlight and the cold fortune


down the streets on prospect

the butcher walks home 

orange in the streetlight

even knows it in the dark

proves it with his eyes closed


he puts his red coat downstairs

goes up into his bedroom

undresses and folds his arms 

as if it could impress you

from under the covers he thought you whispered you want more