Miss Lonelyhearts

hello miss hearts,
miss tinted glass-eye quick-walker,
these are long drawn days.
your delta and Grand Teton fill my mouth,
i pass through the ribs of your steel skeleton
with visions of white oiled pistons pumping. 
my tongue slides warmly along the base of my gums,
erect through these crusty lips for you,
rising to hardened teeth, chipped and rusted.
an invisible face in fast streets.
miss hearts, what have i done to deserve you?

miss lonely hearts,
your quick rodent look and shoe-lace inspection,
we see each other's fearful eyes at a glace,
and walk away without blinking.
do we know we would lie
to die with hands on the inner thigh?
to excite the rotting prisoner in mind cells?
can we taste that cigarette after we come,
or will i see your ass-crack bent through torn panties;
the brown stained farts on my jockeys ?
will we smirk at our lonely bodies of flesh in the cosmos?

miss, i am lonely, my heart, O my heart,
we ride the same streetcars but pay different fares,
my feet drag mud while yours ride on air,
in window reflections you seem transparent,
with autos, houses, and telephone poles within you.
my head rests on warm pillow cases from the laundromat
as i look down at my paunch; maybe you have noticed,
but when my clothes sparkle and my hair is neat,
would you pass by and whisper "oh how sweet."
or grab the newspaper on the seat beside,
returning home, unknown, to watch rhymes repeat?

miss lonely, you are lonely.
will a plane have to crash before we can meet?
a blood and guts battle of fighting cocks ensue?
or we two, tight-lipped and blurry-eyed at a bar?
will you remove your glass eye? 
will i let my tongue rest,
and let our compassion do its best?
can you bury your dead and take hold of my hand
to call on new spirits, not rekindle the past
miss lonely, O lonely, my heart, O my heart!
your heart and my heart, our hearts, O our hearts!

somewhere there is a light shining,
a fragrance whamming in the breeze. 
a miner digging new paths out of a cave,
after so many dark nights,
one night be brave,
in night, O the night when glass and steel melt
and new lands across East River appear, 
an island of light,
green hills and vast valleys in seasons
when we can cast out our dirty water,
replenishing our springs, without reason. 

new york city
circa 1976