shallow nights I will not go
my legs will beg the other way

there are houses with thin pages
there is no food on the table

cold wet so soaked to the tent
a cardboard wilting in November

fetid Europe salutes in fancy knickers
at brown uniformed funerals

swollen with vengeance or dead
all protest will decompose

leafs blanket the autumn around me
the seasonal exhalation is tall

there will be no accountability
but the pleading blink of a small child

there will be more the same
with the no content in hungry stalkers

I walk with my understanding
to the end of each day uncertain

I see that you are another me I
that holy is such a very short time