Yes, but winter lasts longest.
Bald men with their frighteningly
massive shapes, etc. Bald men
who wear glasses too small
for their ears. Bald men
with tiny women, dancing. Bald men
carrying home their bean soups,
white bread, slaw, butter,
all the better to meet you with
in the driveway, video games
when you close your eyes
and wish for something green
save you, be it a moldy crust
his inexperienced shuffle, or
palsied hands of love, reaching
and clutching at
fearful scent of cod, you sleep
they rise slowly to feed.
in bald men the dirt must accumulate
between the flanks of
pigs, into the perpetually
height of a credenza, wax
sand and salt, like Bermuda,
godawful place where things disappear.
have the look of a hard day,
would give up their seats on a train,
your shopping, and take you home,
is colder than
other side of that pillow.
must be careful of what
will say to them, and never
their fathers, not even
far as they could toss you rough
up, and other prolonged attentions.
Thoughts of men bald on purpose keep me
wakeful. I go into them, narrowed
with tenderness. I kiss them in bars.
I let them press against me, breathe
into my neck, and will not touch.
shape of the skull,
ridged and voluptuous.