she almost lets me think i can sleep with her

as the sky was dying
slowly
behind her head
and alien eyes
the words
ill and hood and kaballah
spilled out of her mouth
pushed out by her wanderin
tongue
she was surrounded
by tulips and chrysathymums
and never asher her
borrowed
cigarettes
just
let the used up potential
hang there in the
city night
above some spanish
speaking softball game
in bushwick
in the anticipation of gunshots
with cops and their loud urgent
radios
pacing on the corner
she had been a daytime tv
actress
she had been in a car
crossing america
she had been crying
she had been three bottles deep
at some exclusive parties
sometimes before now
on this balcony
in these flowers
under this halfhearted moon
in this lonliest of cities
in her own infinite abyss
wanting one perfect
wahoo moment
and now in her loose
fitting shirt and
occassional cocaine
haze
beth was
a new
mixture
of sadness and peace