Landscape w/ the Fall of Somebody

I woke to the windowpane, licked
by rain. Busied in the tedious exit of dreams,
I first failed to separate his noises from
the spattering of weather and walls.

But I could taste thirst -
air worn thin like the inside of a balloon.
In my dumb coarseness
I felt a trembling from the formless above,
And then knew the panting of a shrunken mouth carried
through faint and quieter seconds.

Why was it born
here in the belly outside of its desire -
Pissing blood and swollen
against the floor, dry heaving
in the eyes, senseless from a dead gain?
Hungry ghost

one hundred ears made
For drips not drunk,
For water spent over my roof
under the spell of his old itch -
The moon-burnt and skinned old thing
it hurts to pity.

Detectives

Gritting our teeth
with guns, down to the gums -
we're spat mouthfuls of crumbles,
fully loaded.

There were long trial periods
between our investigations,
legs. Let's just say
every place became somewhere
to shove something into.

The organization was arduous;
We could barely keep track of each other,
let alone the insipid things below, and

I ain't allowed to keep innocents,
according to God - But I've seen him
spew forth our own flesh
and make a big mess of the selves.
I've seen him gnaw on his tale
as if it were our tale and then
throw 'em a bone.

We had once, with great efforts,
tried to explain what lies
under there - in sight and shame,
plus love and pain and all the other
blah blah blah that was popular
(and against the law) last year.

All ears!
I said, then,

but it’s no use - they want
themselves and don’t
need to hear or see or be
any of us, unhappy.

As a compromise
we kill their sympathizers
and, together, have a good nod.