I read ‘postman’ from your jacket, though I misbelieve your stolen someone, taken as a shield to cover, with stiff sufficiency, your flush faced ambiguity of soul.
And I think denial, sinking in.
Into the volume of your coat, your tortoise head gives my only clue.
I may have got you wrong, but I think you drink
Too much
Too frequently
And with too, too loss of control, the spirit flicks its whip, its spirit sting quickly surpassing
A moment’s feel-good
I think you pull in your tortoise neck with shame
Of a piss-yourself lassitude
Sinking in, into the bulk of your borrowed coat you bring to mind some withered naked cliché
For which I think abhorrence
And contempt as my first thought
Though my second is something closer to compassion
aggiegoatmother 