you were a criminal/ everyone who loved you knew it/ your crimes of pausing in the field was a masquerade of the exquisitely privileged when all you really had was guesswork/ i loved you anyway/ crawling through my own holes of oblivion/ it was most definitely  a problem/ a correspondence of the eyes breaking through such solid walls with dynamite and equally indifferent definitions of repose we made noise but there was no sleep/ not in a bed, anyway/ does sex really define a relationship you damn well know it does/ your world of graves, guns, corpses, do not open the suitcase, bus stations, post office boxes, disembodied joy, cash veins, and running from the cops, was a life that had provoked my own with all the strangers in our rooms who had arrived like spiders in the echoes of despair/