all your heroes have gone.
they disintegrate from the force
of your heel
walking along the Jersey boardwalk
all the way up to
Canada
and those stop lights of salvation; newspaper lies
& fleshy waitresses
will eat you
once you reach NYC.
I tell this to you
knowing all about telephone booths, taxi drivers,
break downs & breaks up & ecstasy in a public
library.
I am confident you will not listen
but continue to burn your arm
in rivers of fire…
(all your heroes have gone)
you know.
you do not listen,
love.
© 2003 a.k.