INNINGS

INNINGS

INNINGS

somebody keeps track of how many times
I make love don’t you god don’t you?
and how good it is telling me
it’s marked down where I can’t see
right underneath me so the next time
something unreal happens in the papers
I don’t understand it it doesn’t touch
me I start thinking
everyone’s heart might be pure
after all because what the hell
they don’t kill me just each other
they don’t actually try making me sad
just do things make things happen
suffer things I erupt
into the feminine like a lion don’t
I god? among doves? so even being with me
is like beauty? I move under this god
like a whore I gurgle I roll
like a toy boat what’s the score
now god? am I winning?