Christmas Eve

for Vincent Warren Behind the black water tower under the grey of the sky that feeds it smoke speeds to where a pigeon spreads its wings This is no great feat Cold pushes out its lust We walk we drink we cast our giggling insults Would you please leave the $2.50 you owe me I would rather not talk about it just now           Money bores me I would like to visit someone who will stay in bed all day           A forest is rising imperceptibly in my head not a civilized park I think it would be nice this “new moral odor” no it would not mean “everything marching to its tomb” The water tower watches over us            Is there someone you would like to invite        no one.