this morning i went to the doctor we overtalked

unhorsing each other down on wiles of valentines

did he not give me the eye when i struggled to recall

my exes and whys was he preying on my prayers

for one shy of legscraping razors or was it vanity

youre fine prescribed my guile under the eyes of nyc

against the barehearthed and bareheaded i cannot see

pangs of loss had me sneer at my girls agony

every time she showed up to sell blue irises

but today when she convulsed in champagne foam

violently i shuddered on the balcony her bedside pills

yes i changed yes yes i know whats good for her

yes i knew yes yes now where these pangs of loss

belong till death are insouciant roads i shant recross

measuring the gait of schlepping silences

before the ambulance with blue irises i embedded

my girl under whirls of eyes with a thud i left