The post boat was like a gondola that called at each houseboat. It carried a clerk, weighing scales, and a bell to announce arrivals.

Has he been kept from us? Portents of rain, rumors, ambushed letters . . . Curtained palanquin, fetch our word, bring us word: Who has died? Who'll live? Has the order gone out to close the waterways... the one open road?

And then we saw the boat being rowed through the fog of death, the sentence passed on our city. It came close to reveal smudged black-ink letters which the postmanhe was alive gave us, like signs, without a word,

and we took them, without a word. From our deck we'd seen the hill road bringing a jade rain, near-olive, down from the temple, some penitent's cymbaled prayer? He took our letters, and held them, like a lover, close

to his heart. And the rain drew close. Was there, we asked, a new password blood, blood shaken into letters, cruel primitive script that would erode our saffron link to the past? Tense with autumn, the leaves, drenched olive,

fell on graveyards, crying "O live!'' What future would the rain disclose? O Rain, abandon all pretense, now drown the world, give us your word, ring, sweet assassin of the road, the temple bell! For if letters

come, I will answer those letters and my year will be tense, alive with love! The temple receives the road: there, the rain has come to a close. Here the waters rise; our each word in the fog awaits a sentence:

His hand on the scales, he gives his word: Our letters will be rowed through olive canals, tense waters no one can close.

think i'm going for a walk now i feel a little unsteady i don't want noone to follow me except maybe you

i could make you happy, you know if you weren't already i could do a lot of things and i do

tell you the truth i prefer the worst of you too bad you had to have a better half she's not really my type but i think you two are forever and i hate to say it but you're perfect together

so fuck you and your untouchable face fuck you for existing in the first place and who am i that i should be vying for your touch who am i bet you can't even tell me that much

2:30 in the morning my gas tank will be empty soon neon sign on the horizon rubbing elbows with the moon safe haven of the sleepless where the deep fryer's always on radio is counting down the top 20 country songs

out on the porch the fly strip is waving like a flag in the wind you know i really don't look forward to seeing you again soon.

you look like a photograph of yourself taken from far far away i won't know what to do i won't know what to say

so fuck you...

see you and i'm so perplexed what was i thinking what will i think of next where can i hide in the back room there's a lamp that hangs over the pool table and when the fan is on it swings gently side to side there's a changing constellation of balls as we are playing i see orion and say nothing the only thing i can think of saying

is fuck you...

you give me that look that's like laughing with liquid in your mouth like you're choosing between choking and spitting it all out like you're trying to fight gravity on a planet that insists that love is like falling and falling is like this

feels like reckless driving when we're talking it's fun while it lasts, and it's faster than walking but no one's going to sympathize when we crash they'll say "you hit what you head for, you get what you ask" and we'll say we didn't know, we didn't even try one minute there was road beneath us, the next just sky

i'm sorry i can't help you, i cannot keep you safe i'm sorry i can't help myself, so don't look at me that way we can't fight gravity on a planet that insists that love is like falling and falling is like this.