All of You on the Good Earth

Nights of 1998

- 30 Nights of 1998 For Winn Coslick It’s boiling up: my tin-ceilinged cavern Downtown. I’m struggling to play a record, But my fingers quiver and the needle Shrieks like scraped chalk through the speakers. I turn It up, and up, and up. I’m lit like a war With pills, lines, so many drinks I can’t feel. I find two women shooting heroin In my bed. I’m coming up so hard I puke. O Christ the summer is stunned with lilacs! Someone gets kicked in the nose, and then More arrive, and more, and would you look At all this, and God the noise, we can’t go back— We fall apart like ancient stars, sparks— Gold like pollen blown across all this dark. ...