you leave the angel in your bed for the street
afraid that she will wake up
and want more than light-beams for blankets

you know the rent is not due
and all-around people love your pictures
but they can’t love you
not even you love you

in your eyes are the shadows of 23,000 ghosts
give or take
and as the madness sets in
you don’t know what is more real

maybe my couch would not have been good enough
for you
even if we talked all night
maybe your back was crooked beyond the repair of
any doctor
maybe it is like that

for all of us, one day

and only those who like the pain
fight through it

but what you didn’t know, robin
is that you held the hope of the world
and if your eyes saw enough
well
what are mine good for?