I carry my dead on my back
I know their names, but I don't call them forth
There will be time,
There will always be time for sorrow


You liked to get drunk, to circle the well of madness
say senseless things, mirages you'd invent,
commune with the worst criminals, stink like garbage

You liked the Christ of rodents, the saint of those in tatters,
And to spread the legs of crooked women
You liked deceit, the easy lay in blue and rosy bathrooms
You liked my head against the pillow
And to point at me with a curved finger and trample me down with your scorpion feet