with love

go here now - it's all there!

The black's behind the door
it opens and we are left needy
with sores on our arms
and a dark grimace on our lips

Older now, though not more wise for drink
and not more respectable for love of order;
I come bent like a piece of indolent driftwood,
a bit of prone and passionate flotsam,
half bent and half buried,
where the river meets the sea.