It wasn’t like any gimmick could
I was the fifth train car,
that field down the road. You said
you knew what to trace – that synapses
And it’s not like that war could have
Tonight you’ll play the victor in
some other fuck-up, while I watch,
as always, dumb and benign.
That nick from the shaving razor,
the blood in the bath, I’ve put in
I make my pilgrimage to you yearly.
That hole in the fence is scorn.
I of the amalgam – of the
disgustingly naïve. You – God.
You fucking Peninsula.