they’re arrogant/ bedouins we are the bedouins/ dressed in blue as brilliant as my first lover’s eyes/

i could always get a job/

in any town/

i would find the school district offices/ in thirty minutes from going through the front door, by the time i was leaving that same door/ i was employed/

why/

because i was a male with experience working in special ed/ men do not work such jobs/ i was glad/ i do not care to work with men/ they’re ignorant and territorial/

the boys are only arrogant and territorial/

and every junky’s like a setting sun/

i always ignore the arrogance/ because it’s meaningless/ it isn’t real/ it’s a front/ most of them are shy/ no one is more arrogant them me/ it’s a decidedly ignominious trait/ it’s awful/ but i just don’t care/

it’s an act/ if you push him with your finger, he might cry/ i am always having to remind myself that what this one and this one and that one and that one, and this means virtually all of them/ is germane to what/ to nothing/

comes sedated with hate or speak it in another language/ cums sedated and has won awards for it they’ve gone dazzled with themselves/ dreaming wet dreams and minute details of a world you would never know because the normals cannot envision it and exactly how is that the fuck my problem they think sex is around every corner/

you know you do/ i have not worked in any one place since 1983 that did not have kids with hiv/ all of them did/

doing sex work, tricks would fall in love with you and it was an occupational hazard as precarious as ceasar on his throne or on his toilet you decide/

they’ve been badly loved enough/ i’m not good at it/ being badly loved or loving badly/ they only laugh among themselves because they assume most adults want something, and adults are dangerous/ a lingering note of they would rather not lose or give away anything through a rigorous accounting they keep score because that is what they do/

their tightness is black and blue/ but for me, it’s as if i live among the beasts/ this can be broken down, reconstructed, made good again before it’s time to go mad even as it evolves into a fashion show/ of wolves/

they speak of apocalypse/

cops/ and some guy who keeps picking them up — in various cities — it seems to be the same guy, and whatever you do, don’t be stupid enough to allow him to tie you up/ way too hard core/ even for them/

they’re tough little shits/ they will stare you down/ my eyes to the sky/ they cannot spell/

sometimes, i correct their spelling/ mainly, i do not/ white trash never reads more than slogans/

but i can take anything i want from them, the boys, and that includes the idea of time which is something i never do because they will just give it to you/ and time is ephemeral, and it’s all they have/

there was a time before them, and i do remember it, badly loved, and there was no loving back/ it was an apocalypse/ black and blue and dead bodies below the falls/

time is always looming/ they have, in fact, no vision of it/ none/ it will be like this set in the wet cement forever/

you weren’t there/ keeping your whispers confined to normaltown/ with its rules and regulations and roses/ of amorous breath/ they are bewildered and i do not care if they do deny ever being bewildered they were bewildered mean and lost as moses in his proverbial desert/ like/ really lost/

there are entire towns filled with them/ no one uses the term diaspora, but that is what they are/ leaves and wind/ autumn’s double bind/ you are thinking numbers i am thinking i was never homeless in the first fucking place/ i always had a truck/ camper shells are easy to keep warm/

before your time, boy/

i don’t want in your pants/ i never did suck cock/ it doesn’t do much for me, what matters to me is work/ whether i am working with you, or a dildo tree, it’s about work because that is all i know how to do/ usually badly/ and taller than the last time/

i camped out in the truck/ with my dog/ how does it or why should it matter to me what you believe/ what astounds me is that you don’t really get who is homeless from the gravity-induced singularity writing is, and in photography, one eye is placed in the perception of focus clipped to the understanding that most of it will go, and making mistakes is what robots do adjudged broken parts and tires, great stacks of them, outfitted armfuls and friends of the fucking family/

crows they are crows/ taking off or landing/ it’s all an airport of distorted masturbation/

driving to flagstaff/ no reason, really/ he was how it dips into the fire/ dark as the plains of abraham/ a shattered dark what i want from you is for you to learn how to do all the fighting back more effectively than what you’re doing now and whatever that might be, you have managed to attract far, far too much attention/ let’s both get high here in the back camper of the ford f150/ sleeping bags and the dog/ rain did i mention rain, snow was only snow, rain was the big mud/

the shower at the outlaw trading post camping area there could be another name to it but i don’t care was cold as balls first thing in the morning/ he was born blue of wolves and the one who would plunge into the flock of crows who laughed at him because they were a lot smarter than he was/

more coyote, really/

than wolf/

but some wolf/ desperado/ in another time desperados were a dime a dozen/ if you had told any of them — that in time — the deserts would become narco-deserts and turf wars over scrub they would have laughed at you because you are a fool/

from the future/ which they cannot recognize is speeding away from all of us in a physics no one can even fathom/

let alone define/

and every junky’s like a setting sun/ a little juice in it for everyone/

seattle/ portland/ nashville/ memphis/ new orleans/ dallas/ wichita falls/ denver/ the list is endless/ addictive/ what are you up to nothing nothing my sweet jesus ass/ he wore his light on balance he would someday drop maybe even today/ you drop you drop/ the smell of it is milk, sugar, and usually the hills/ all the fields will find some sleep/ some druid mysteries/ some mischief sings he’s back/

america is a brush with wind/ in mexico, you just drive out into the sonoran and we camped breakfast would be coffee and fish knocked back with tequila, home from school, schoolboy, the fires on the beach in mazatlan, my tent and his featured subroutines all positions of the law repeated/

and every junky’s like a setting sun/

i could drive and dream/ language was not unlike any other political question, but fucking was itself a political act/ it’s okay if you are with the normals and only out here in the literary highlands to watch because it is to be retained such slumming who the fuck cares, if i tell him to come close/

he will/