Last night I dreamed of ferocious drinking

with you. Once we did cocaine off the basement

floor in that dorm right on Mass. Ave., the one

like a fortress or wall, & other things


but mostly we drank. I could taste

the wheaty bitterness of a beer I never liked

& the thirst in my throat curled my hands, thirst


inherited from myself, whip of child-eyes eating

saltwaterair & needing. My drink drinks

sticky beer sap it drinks urinal cake


dew and Jäger’s wild herb mostly it drinks

the coldest scoop of air at the bottom

of the wind’s throat. It wears fraying slippers


leathersoled, soft as ear broken as mulch,

slip slip taps down every windblown urgent

path. Cousin to the hull of my fastest


boat to the slick skin of water on my

own, cousin to every insideout mouth

& the flayed skin of whatever hates


itself and wants to swallow the world. Only

satisfied as the throat closes and feels

the next swallow pile on top of it. Who


else has this desire.

No one, it is mine.

What are you looking for?