and the way they circle
and perch on my
drinking glass
like buzzards
on a cliff
or maybe
its the moths
and the way
they fly into the light
and fall dead
or maybe
its the sound of a baby continuing
to wail for its mamma
in the abandoned
house next door
where the homeless squat
among the needles and empties
or maybe
its just sunday nite
looking at the polaroids
and rolling over
on our bed
listening to the upstairs neighbor
yelping through a fuck
but i think
maybe hitler had it rite
when
he built his bunker
to hide away
with his virgin wife
and offing themselves
when the world at war
got too close