He thinks hard about dogs and the Bull Mountains
and doesn’t understand arresting rhythms or Frost’s idea—
what was it? fiery beer arrests confusion?
But hears a man outside his window: he’s not my baby
Snatch, not my baby. Arrest that parent, he thinks.
Force maketh Nature more violent in the Returne:
Whoa goddamn did you hear me? a woman says.
On the verge of letting down his pants,
he would like to answer her himself.
About understanding, he’s not sure.
The streetlight is on his bed, lighting
the sheets dampened by mist.
Trying to turn away from the voices,
he wonders what the clouds coming back must have done
to the city. Everything is accused.
He has come to this. By day he’ll be free again,
won’t believe in the trial in which he is
the perjurer. The morning will be unbreakable.
His heart will be handed over.
You’re fantastic, all baloney. The woman screams,
red-faced, Calling your nuts bomb bays—
But wait, the man says quietly, there’s an open window.