Drowning

Last week:

Who are you, she asked?

No worry, I said, the name is mine, paid for in blood.

Last year:

Local girls lusting after my US dollars

I push them away

They keep coming on to me like the open sea          

Last night:

Anybody can drink in the evening, he stammered

In the morning, it takes balls

Last hour:

I scanned the linoleum floor of the shotgun shack over and again hunting for something 

yet to be determined         

Last life:

Arab boys knew better, stoned my car when I snubbed their hashish

Last dream:

Babies I will never have 

Form a wide circle around me, smile toothlessly

I roar, but my words get lost in their glare

as they move in for the kill

Last death:

She hollered at the moon for she could not fathom the sky being an empty shell 

I left England for good the day after

Last time:

Fumbling at the edge of the edge

gasping for air, hoping in return

for immortal thoughts in a sacred manner 

as lust when first encountered and consummated

Last you:

Across time, water, history

Last:

This is either the beginning or the end, I somehow think

not really buying any of it                                       

5 a.m., Waupaca, Wisconsin, July 11, 2000