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IN THE STENCH OF IT ALL

the brass fan
spins shadows on the ceiling
while the dogs outside
bark and
Brautigan
rests beside this bed
still laughing.
outside
the spilled night
is alive
harassed-
by blue red flashes
against buildings
against glass
against death itself
mingling in the gutters
as clouds above
flow
to places unseen:
so I rise from here
turn off the daytime
and sneak off in-
to dreams
to places
no one else can follow
to where it doesn't cost a cent.


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