I Got The News

I wrestle my angel bend it to hunger

When I fall into bed ask my bedroom what to dream
who should stroll by but a season of elegant slush
hoarse with dawn when lawns curl up
spending the night daubing streetlights over the sky

The streets that mask themselves as mist marble me
bite of equinox in the air in my hair
I wonder where you go to dance through cracks
in this damned village exquisite with brutality of weather
what’s being processed to pulp in AgriAmerica
I wrestle my angel bend it to hunger
strum your memory until earth opens up

When drugs suck us off the map of suspirated days
I meet you at that house with the lights always on
there’s dirty ice everywhere we lie
believing in a kind of stultifying sameness
that we saw on the news yesterday praying for us
your high beams daubing the back of Spring’s first sky