when days get like these and the way we stare off

trying to get through Tolstoy
drinking to much coffee
smoking to many cigarettes
running my fingers over my skin
breathing
and hearing the hearts drum beats

when days get like these
i think i've got an ulcer or cancer
or some other ailment of a man twice my age
with a mortgage

payphones are becoming a romantic ideal
like a greaser's boots

i miss all of europe, impersonally
see south america and the west in my dreams
worry about the atlantic ocean
though i know it can take care of itself
hate the second hand in weaker moments


and i'm falling in love again
the way we stare off
with the literature of a situation
dear jack micheline
how many women did you cripple
with the poetics or romance of it all
for the poetics and romance of it all
and shouldn't they have seen it comming
in the firelit nights and the crickets
sometimes i see women
as used ashtrays and sunrise
shimmering
the way we stare off