the only time in my fatigued, hollow-eyed life/

that i have ever felt good about or exhilerated/

to be living my life – another world for a threadbare

existence – such as a gaunt survival deteriorates

like radiation leaves a telltale trail of half-lives

wrung out, and drained was when i was actually

living that life as a moving object on my bike/

a moving object is harder to shoot, and i could

and did leave or get out of dodge when getting

out of dodge was the only option, that or allowing

yourself to be caged among the things that have

been lost between the intermissions of this film

and everyone has to pee and the image of the

one cock you looked at was what remained of

the story’s latent arch, riding off again knowing

that when you left they were all looking at your ass/

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