I Don’t Need a Bedsheet with Slits for Eyes to Kill You in
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if it’s raining and you’re sitting behind a shade with
a cup of curari or a dead
antelope
with bluer eyes than any of the beautiful blue eyes
of any of the girls in this ugly
town
I’ll paint your fence green or
unplug your drain for almost
nothing;
if the fog comes in like soft cleanser
and you can see old men looking out at it
from behind curtains
these warm old men smoking pipes
I will tell you stories to make your dreams
easier;
but if you mutilate me
hang me alongside the scarecrow like a
cheap Christ
and let some schoolboy hang a sign about my
throat
I’m going to walk your streets of night
with a knife
in the rain in the snow
on gay holidays I’ll be there
behind you
and when I decide finally that we will
meet
you will not understand
because you did not want
to
and the flowers and the dogs and the
cities and the children will not
miss you.