i must be a mighty powerful thing
like a man’s legs crossed
or a moustached woman
or like desire when it mounts you
and rides you into the sunset
like hunger pain all bunched up between your legs
must be something like
the sight of yourself in the morning
in the mirror that makes you want
to go back to bed
i must feel like the thought of love
going all to pieces
staining your finery forever
i bring you up
to take you down
make you remember what you want so bad
to forget
but in all my movin and doin
somehow it got right past me
that to a dying man
the sight of life is a hateful thing
it’ll make you go to the grave cussin
despisin the day you were born
