My Name

 

Click here to read this poem on Scapegoat Review

 

 

It is a fact that day is done
dishes
when its usefulness
when the sun
when the one
I never know
shirtsleeves
comes back at
dusk to
listen it’s a fact failing
railing, bridge
leaning over
ranting moreover
you never let me be
burgundy
be finished with
you you return asking
alms, explaining
I want that condition
where you forget your
identity wander
barefoot
in the city
from gym to
internet café till
they find
you bobbing in
the water of
New York
Harbor
breathing and they
tell you to
remember who you
are like
coming back from
the dead,
anesthesia and you
don’t want at that
moment can’t see the
point for what you
need is

sleep.