Tonight there is no moonlight; no fragrance,
No rawness, no luck
And lovers retreat to the ego motel.
At times, colored birds would leave their nests,
Go espionage hunting for something hard
Sex or jazz or both. but not tonight.
Yesterday, a deaf man stole a car,
Attracted by the garter hanging on the rearview.
Tonight, he sleeps in a normal bed,
Dreaming of empty beehives.
The compulsive are not leaping plead naked into the lake.
There are no fresh bridges to jump from.
A conspiracy among the unborn.
Procrastinate another day. all kicking in the labor room,
Flattens to a hum. and that light in the sky isn't venus,
But the lost signals of a flashlight
That the meterman dropped at noon.