Sometimes he wonders how much longer he can keep up
his strange mixture of despair and exaltation
surely one will win out over the other in the end

Some years ago in Mexico he met a man
quite a lot like him
in the desert
they called themselves a pack
(like animals)
lay back to back for warmth, and watched the stars
make patterns.
The next morning they drank their water too soon
because the dust had got in their mouths
and they had to nudge each other on
- their little pack of two

but he already knew about the patterns
because he'd seen them in the concrete
after the rain
under the street-lamp, outside his door

He dreams of love
with a girl who's deaf and dumb and blind
so for once in his life
he can leave words behind.
He dreams up defences
against things that upset him,
his mind is an armoury
of dreams

He doesn't believe
in fixing the past
in psychotherapy or looking for answers
but in telegraph wires
a proper smile
his skin...
...although sometimes he finds himself
standing at the shaving aisle
with his fingers on his pulse
muttering Help me under his breath
so what does he know?

Only that it's beautiful
- this day
beautiful and sad
like all days seem to be