Luis Morone
cuts adrift
sinks flies
flickers out
it’s dark in his room
they screw in
a bulb
find rags
on hangers
that resemble
his body
the pin-up
with the stigmata
crucifix guitar
with broken string
mirror wind
abandoned to moon
rat-trap moon
abandoned to rust
anger abandoned
desire abandoned
birth death
abandoned abandoned
cortege of roaches
carting off crumbs
in other words
nothing much
changed
by his absence
loans outstanding
love
and other debts
still outstanding
Don’t worry kids
you still have
seventeen uncles
but children are born
to mourn for lost fathers
Don’t worry Mother
you aren’t blind
nobody sees him